


Dust and Blood

by notapartytrick



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: AU: Peter gets stuck in the warehouse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Peter Parker, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Coping, Gen, Hinted Peter Parker/Ned Leeds - Freeform, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker gets a Bionic Arm, Peter Parker is Just a Kid, Prosthetics, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Tony Stark, Regret, Suffering, Tony Stark Has A Heart, warehouse scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapartytrick/pseuds/notapartytrick
Summary: An alternate universe where Peter couldn't make it out of the warehouse on his own.AKA a way to vent my anger at Infinity War by torturing my baby boi even more :))))





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic was originally Black Panther's line in Infinity War: "Thanos will have nothing but dust and blood."
> 
>  
> 
> I have my beautiful babe Elf to thank for basically half of the premise of this fic, so, from the bottom of my blackened heart- thank you!
> 
>  
> 
> Inspired by the song "Flares" by The Script: https://youtu.be/r7jaXI6oXpQ

 

 

When Peter came to, he couldn’t see.

 

 

The stupid swimming goggles he had on were filled with mud and grit and clouds of dust which stuck to fluttering lashes and burned when it found its way into his eyes. Peter reached up to tug his homemade mask off.

 

 

And found he couldn’t move.

 

 

Suddenly, it all came rushing back to him.

 

 

The Vulture dude, he was gonna steal Tony’s stuff- and they were fighting- he stole Flash’s car- Ned was trying to call Happy-

 

 

And the guy dumped an entire warehouse on him.

 

 

Peter tried not to panic. He’d lifted tons of heavy things before. He could do this. He-

 

 

He couldn’t move.

 

 

Nothing had been this heavy before…

 

 

The weight on top of him felt like fire, constricting his chest, crushing the backs of his legs, pressing on his shoulders and neck so he could barely lift his head.

 

 

Through the woolen, dust-clogged mask and the concrete on top of him, he found he couldn’t breathe either.

 

 

Shit-

 

 

Breaths coming short and fast, like he was having a panic attack, like he was hyperventilating-

 

 

And then he was hyperventilating, breaths catching raggedly in his crushed chest as the slabs of concrete around him shifted perilously and a trickle of water doused the back of his head.

 

 

He had to get the mask off.

 

 

As Peter attempted to pull his arms up to his face, the back of his shoulders scraped along the rough concrete above him, tearing the material of his suit. It was an almost welcome distraction from the crushing weight.

 

 

Battered fingers fumbled at the hem or the mask. His breaths were pants, sobs almost. He couldn’t get it off. He couldn’t get it off, he couldn’t-

 

 

It was off, leaving a throat and eyes raw from the dust raining all around him. He sucked in a breath; it rasped in his throat.

 

 

Trying desperately to calm himself down, his hand fumbled uselessly for purchase on a rock beside him.

 

 

The worst part was when he started crying.

 

 

They were dry sobs, really, but they wracked his trapped body, sending throbs of pain spiking through his chest.

 

 

He was whimpering like a little kid.

 

 

He was so scared.

 

 

Peter gritted his teeth, trying to compose his thoughts, pushing aside his screaming Spidey senses, forcing breaths through his shredded throat, muttering to himself: “Okay, ready?”

 

 

Steeling himself to get this crap off of him.

 

 

As he pushed upwards, crying out with the effort, all that changed was the pain, getting worse and worse and worse until it felt like his back was on fire and his legs were going to burst and still he hadn’t moved more than an inch.

 

 

How long would it take before the weight killed him? Would he die alone?

 

 

Gasping, hiccupping, Peter sank back down, shoulders heaving and coated in concrete dust, hair plastered to his crumpled face.

 

 

He had no idea how far he was from another human being.

 

 

Scrap that, he was pretty sure there was no-one who didn’t want him dead around for miles.

 

 

There was dirt under his fingernails and dirt in his eyes and fire all over him, and he couldn’t move or breathe or see-

 

 

 

> “Hello?”

 

 

It was torn from his throat in desperation, amid short, heavy breaths that were only getting faster.

 

 

 

> “Hello?”

 

 

A scream now, a sob. Each call for help felt like a knife in his back but he had to try something.

 

 

He hadn’t expected a reply, but the silence that followed his screams was heart-shattering.

 

 

No-one cared.

 

 

At that moment, Peter felt younger than he’d ever felt before. He was a little kid, stuck and scared and dying and alone.

 

 

Did anyone know where he was?

 

 

A pale, sweaty hand gripped the rock beside him, his fiddling habit coming through even now.

 

 

Instinctively, his head jerked back to look for another means of escape, earning him a smack to the head from the slab looming over his trapped body.

 

 

Now, stars burst in his vision as he strained his neck, eyes roving around the collapsed warehouse all around him, looking for something, some glimpse of hope, some way of escape, something.

 

 

 

> “Please! Anyone, please- I’m- I'm down here, I’m down here- I’m stuck, I’m st-stuck, I can’t move, I can’t-“

 

 

These were the cries of a little boy. Peter’s eyes were screwed shut from pain and blind panic, a trembling arm reaching out towards the empty space in front of him as if salvation was just at his fingertips, his voice raw and wavering.

 

 

Finally, Peter tailed off, a sob cutting off his words. His outstretched arm fell back to the rubble.

 

 

Downward spiraled his thoughts. He was going to die, slowly, painfully, alone- he’d never get to say goodbye to May, or Ned- he’d never stop the Vulture- this was the end- he’d never prove himself to Mr. Stark…

 

 

He’d never prove himself to Mr. Stark.

 

 

The thought somehow stilled his breathing, compelled his head to lift slowly from where it had been hung low.

 

 

Before him was a small and stagnant water pool, into which his homemade mask had fallen.

 

 

What were the chances of it having landed just so it covered half of his reflection in the water?

 

 

At that moment, Peter saw himself and Spider-Man as one.

 

 

He’d never really put himself and his alter ego together. When he burst out of the school gates in the afternoon and slipped on the suit, he became… someone else. That was why he loved patrolling so much: because the boost in confidence it gave him was... awesome.

 

 

He was free to be the quippy, cocky superhero New York knew and loved. It was the best feeling.

 

 

But he’d never had the freedom to use his strength as himself, as Peter. Because then people’d put two and two together and find out.

 

 

Tony’s words echoed in his mind, a burst of clarity amid his racing thoughts: “If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.”

 

 

He had to prove himself to Mr. Stark, to everyone.

 

 

To himself.

 

 

It hurt so bad, but he wouldn’t just lay there and let the end come. It wasn’t time yet. Not yet.

 

 

No-one was out there. No-one could get him out of this.

 

 

No-one except himself.

 

 

His bottom lip trembled. Sucking in a shallow breath, he mumbled to himself:

 

 

 

> “C’mon Peter.”

 

 

Peter braced himself for the pain he knew this would cause him; shifted aching arms underneath him; set his face in a determined grimace.

 

 

 

> “C’mon Spider-Man. C’mon Spider-Man. Come on Spider-Man!”

 

 

This time Peter was strengthened by resolve. With a face pale and shaking with effort, he braced his hands and shoulders against the underside of the slab and strained upwards with all his might.

 

 

At this point, he didn’t care what escaped his mouth; he let out the high-pitched groans and yells of pain, all the time repeating “Come on Spider-Man,” like a mantra.

 

 

And slowly, agonizingly slowly, the crushing weight on top of him began to lift.

 

 

When a shower of concrete dust and water droplets doused him on the way up, dribbling into his open mouth, he faltered a little, the slab bearing down like a wildfire on his back, but choking would not stop him.

 

 

He was Peter. He was Spider-Man.

 

 

 

> “Come on Spider-Man!”

 

 

A broken scream tore from his grit-clotted throat as he managed to bring his knees up under him. Maybe his legs were broken. It was hard to tell when his entire body was on fire.

 

 

But it was working. He was doing it, he was going to be free, he could move again, he could breathe again, and he was so close-

 

 

A shift, a noise further above him, and another dislodged piece of concrete falling from above jerked him out of his thoughts.

 

 

He should have been more careful.

 

 

The slab broke in two over Peter’s back, knocking the wind out of him, and the more substantial half struck the corner and plowed through the empty space, taking his right arm down with it and driving it into the ground.

 

 

The wet crunching sound his arm made when it has hit was almost as bad as the pain itself.

 

 

The mantra left him, along with the remainder of his coherent thoughts, as he watched his elbow and lower arm disappear under tonnes of rock.

 

 

Peter screamed. Long and hard.

 

 

It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The closest thing had to be the wrench he’d felt in his heart when he heard the news of his parents’ death from his aunt.

 

 

The slab over his back thudded right back down as he stumbled to the floor. All his efforts, gone.

 

 

The concrete hadn’t severed the arm completely; that was almost worse.

 

 

There was no distraction in the darkness from the blood seeping out of his upper arm, from the mangled mess of ruined flesh and veins and the just-visible whiteness of bone, from the white-hot, stabbing, excruciating pain radiating all over his body in spikes.

 

 

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t see- everything was spinning from the pain-

 

 

The pain, the pain, the pain, thepainthepainthepainthepainthe-

 

 

It took a good few minutes for Peter’s screams to turn to choked sobs. He had drawn blood from his lower lip from biting through it.

 

 

And there, waiting for him, were the dark corners of his mind, pushing out any hope of survival, of relief, telling him he’d die here, alone and in pain and unloved.

 

 

There were no further calls for help from Peter. He knew now that this was it. His old suit didn’t have a tracker, and besides, he’d disabled the tracker in his new one at the decathlon.

 

 

Peter recalled the time when making it to the decathlon competition was the most pressing issue on his mind.

 

 

What time was it? Had he been under for an hour yet?

 

 

Did it even matter any more?

 

 

He could barely see from the thick haze of tears running in tracks down his face, carving a path through the flecks of blood and plaster dust there.

 

 

The only thought that consoled him now was that he’d get to be with Ben and his parents. When? Soon, he hoped.

 

 

At least then he wouldn’t be alone anymore.

 

 

Was it light there?

 

 

Peter hoped it was really bright, and warm- with lots and lots of open space…

 

 

Light…

 

 

Light?

 

 

The slightest light among the crushing darkness of the rubble.

 

 

A single spark, filled with hope.

 

 

It was whispered, choked out wetly, but a word nonetheless: “Hello?”

 

 

“Oh my god- Peter?”


	2. Chapter 2

 

Tony’s moving day had to be a world record: Most Catastrophic.

 

 

He’d managed to get a hold of his stuff again when a little alert popped up on his watch of a foreign heat signature in his jet.

 

 

At the time, he’d been attending a particularly obnoxious charity ball, held in an obnoxiously large grand hall. Even the balloons were obnoxiously huge.

 

 

He would have skipped it out, but Pepper made him promise he’d be there.

 

 

Getting the alert had been a relief, actually: an excuse to get away from the grovelling groupies swarming around.

 

 

He left a message for Pepper: “Hey Pep, got a small emergency, nothing dangerous, but I gotta check it out. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Love you.”

 

 

Of course he’d brought the suit with him. He never left it behind.

 

 

Just in case.

 

 

Seeing as he had a manual suit there, it would be pointless to send out a remote version.

 

 

So he got his paranoid ass inside Mark 47 and took to the skies to scout out his jet and whatever the hell was going on with it.

 

 

The Vulture, or whatever this asshole tried to call himself, was a pretty clever guy. Tony had to hand it to him: kind of a dick move to break the law in order to make his tech, but he’d done some pretty fun stuff with what he had.

 

 

It was always harder to deal with criminals when you couldn’t kill them. Tony could have done with a good punching session after the monotony of that charity ball.

 

 

The guy was crafty, but, unsurprisingly, not crafty enough to stand up to Iron Man.

 

 

Giving in to his temptations, Tony knocked the guy out with a few careful blows to the head. Stuff safe. Job done.

 

 

He rerouted the plane, filled in the hole with his new tech. God, he loved that feature.

 

 

But then a call came through from Happy. “Hey, Tony, this is probably nothing to worry about but the kid’s friend, Ed or something, he’s been calling me non-stop. He won’t shut up about the Spider-Kid, saying he hasn’t heard from him in an hour…”

 

 

Tony wasn’t concerned, but he would not have the kid’s aunt May breathing down his neck if Underoos’d got himself stuck or something.

 

 

“Alright, put me through to him.”

 

 

Immediately, Tony’s helmet was filled with static as the shitty connection broke through.

 

 

There was a kid speaking to him at a mile a minute: “Mr. Tony Stark, sir, I’m Ned Leeds, I’m an associate of Peter’s, and, well, sorry to bother you but I think there’s something going on with Peter- well I’m pretty sure actually, because we, like, we’re really connected you know? Like, we always tell each other what’s up, and he hasn’t been on the news or anything since he went to try and stop the Vulture-“

 

 

“Woah, steady, kid.” Tony had to smirk at how similar Peter was to his friends- the shyness and stammering and awkward determination was all there. “What’s your name?”

 

 

“I’m Ned, sir. But can you please try to find Peter? I’m really worried about him and you’re probably the only one who can do anything about it right now, I mean, I don’t think Happy even likes me and he doesn’t really-“

 

 

This kid was going to give Tony a headache pretty soon.

 

 

“Ned, calm down. We can’t do anything if you keep rambling.”

 

 

The line fell quiet.

 

 

“There you go. Now, when did you last hear from Peter?”

 

 

“Uh, a couple of hours ago, I think. I just came back from Homecoming; he had to leave to stop this Vulture guy.”

 

 

Tony thought he’d heard the name amid all of Ned’s rambling.

 

 

He cursed under his breath. Maybe taking the suit away had only put Peter in more danger instead of stopping him from risking his life.

 

 

It was less that danger followed the kid wherever he went that he voluntarily followed the danger wherever it went.

 

 

“The Vulture. I know that guy. You know where he went?”

 

 

“I know he was heading towards this old industrial park in Brooklyn.”

 

 

“How do you know that?”

 

 

There was a short pause. “Because… I’m the one who directed him there.”

 

 

Tony couldn’t hold back a snort. “Directed? How, exactly?”

 

 

“So Peter was in Flash’s car and he called me with Flash’s phone, and I was sorta surrounded by computers like a guy in the- uh- so I could see a map and Peter left his phone in the Vulture’s car so I hacked into the school computers and tracked Peter’s phone so we could see where he was going, and then I, um, hacked into the Avengers main server to try and get through to Happy, you know, to tell him about the Vulture trying to steal your stuff, but-uh- you fixed that yourself so Peter would have come home and, you know, texted me at least, which is why I think- I think he’s missing or stuck or-or captured or something, I don’t know.”

 

 

The rate at which Ned spoke was making Tony feel faintly nauseous.

 

 

“Alright, kid, I’m off to get him back, then. Just load up the postcode and we’re good to go. Most likely he got stuck in someone’s Christmas lights again. I’ll have him text you when I find him.”

 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” And then: “He got stuck in Christmas lights?”

 

 

“Peter’ll tell you all about it in school tomorrow, I’m sure.”

 

 

Tony hung up then, not wanting to be around when Ned went off on yet another tangent, and took off, dreading to think of the various compromising situations he’d find Peter in. They ranged from embarrassing to catastrophic, and almost always meant Tony had to give him The Talk, which he hated.

 

 

Nothing could be worse than the Staten Island Ferry incident, right?

 

 

Although, knowing Peter, it could be a lot worse.

 

 

A lot.

 

 

It didn’t take him long, even breezing along at a leisurely pace, to find the warehouse.

 

 

The sight he was greeted with was… confusing, to say the least.

 

 

The light from the suit’s arc reactor swept over the destruction in front of him. Judging by the clouds of dust still hanging in the air, it had collapsed fairly recently.

 

 

It was a mess: broken slabs of concrete and stone strewn about the place, exposed piping trickling water into the gloom below.

 

 

There was no way Peter had confronted the Vulture in here.

 

 

But- what if he’d gone in while it was still intact, and not come out again?

 

 

Tony was certain that the kid would stop at nothing to catch the bad guys; he wouldn’t have let the Vulture anywhere near that plane if he’d been able to.

 

 

Suddenly, his heart did a weird flip thing. He blinked, twice, hard.

 

 

Surely he wasn’t-

 

 

The smallest sound caught his attention.

 

 

The voice of FRIDAY followed, echoing through his mind like alarm bells: _“Single heat signature detected under the rubble, sir.”_

 

 

Shit.

 

 

Surely not.

 

 

But then the sound came again. It was almost inhuman- almost, but not quite- a wet, choked groan.

 

 

Tony burst into action, muttering “FRIDAY, pull up a map of the heat signature. Where is it?”

 

 

The display in front of him slid into a landscape of dull orange light, punctuated by a single pulsing red shape.

 

 

Holy shit-

 

 

The kid?

 

 

The fallen warehouse was a maze of balancing chunks of concrete, threatening to topple. As much as Tony wanted to blast his way right through, he had to fly at a stupidly slow pace to assure he didn’t dislodge anything.

 

 

As he descended, the darkness and dust took over until he almost forgot there was open air above him.

 

 

How long had the kid been down there?

 

 

He hadn’t heard anything in a couple minutes, and it scared him.

 

 

What if he was too late?

 

 

May was gonna fucking murder him, not to mention that kid Ned evidently.

 

 

Getting antsier by the second, he murmured to FRIDAY to turn up the sound input in the suit.

 

 

Tentatively, dreading what he’d hear- or not hear- Tony called, “Hey, kid? Funny game of hide and seek you got going on.”

 

 

Sometimes, Tony hated that he had to joke about everything.

 

 

He stilled, waiting for a reply.

 

 

And, to his amazement, it came.

 

 

“Hello?”

 

 

God, it sounded awful.

 

 

But it sounded close, too, and that was all Tony could worry about right now. Lowering himself another few feet, he activated the lights in his repulsors to add to the beam from his arc reactor and scoured the rubble around him for any sign of a human being in there.

 

 

His worst nightmares couldn’t have prepared him for the sight that met him.

 

 

“Oh my god- Peter?”

 

 

Peter’s face was ashen, blue-lipped, smeared with dirty water and flecked with blood. His eyelids were half-closed, fluttering. But it wasn’t his face that was the concern.

 

 

Fucking hell-

 

 

His arm…

 

 

A broken slab of concrete had embedded itself in the kid’s upper arm, severing skin, muscle, nerve and cutting into the bone. His lower arm was submerged under the brunt of the slab.

 

 

He must have been there for a good few hours, because the blood flow there had slowed to a trickle, running down into a puddle below.

 

 

Tony couldn’t see any more of him; it was all under a huge piece of concrete.

 

 

His instincts told him to blast that shit off of Peter and get him medical help. But his own medical knowledge and common sense knew that if he tried to remove the concrete, it could be the kid’s end, either from the dramatic change in pressure or from another piece of debris falling from above.

 

 

“FRIDAY, call 911. Tell them he’s stuck under rubble, they’ll need every department they can get.”

 

 

_“On it, boss.”_

 

 

The only thing he could do right now was keep the kid awake.

 

 

“Hey, Pete.” Tony’s voice took on a comforting quality he didn’t know existed. “Huh- not doing so great, are you?”

 

 

His words, spoken from inside the suit because he was wary of trying to land in the rubble, caused Peter’s lashes to flutter a little.

 

 

When the kid managed to get his eyes open, he squinted weakly in the beam of Tony’s arc reactor.

 

 

“Sorry, kid.” Tony angled the light away a little; Peter must have been alone in the dark at least three hours if his hurried calculations were right.

 

 

Peter was trying to say something, but all Tony could make out was his harsh, rapid breaths.

 

 

Not being able to do anything was so frustrating. Tony couldn’t even touch the kid or check his pulse for fear of something else falling on them both.

 

 

All he had was his voice.

 

 

For good measure, he de-activated the suit helmet and continued to speak to Peter. “Hey, Peter, don’t freak out, alright? It’s only gonna hurt more. It’s going to be alright in a little while, you hear me?”

 

 

Peter cut in then, with a thin, wheezing voice: “Uncle Ben? I’m- am I… dead?”

 

 

Tony stopped dead in his tracks.

 

 

“No, kid, it’s me. It’s Tony.”

 

 

The analytical part of his brain was listing off the symptoms of severe blood loss. Pale skin? Check. Rapid and shallow breathing? Check. Weakness? Check. Confusion? Check.

 

 

Try as he might, Tony couldn’t tear his eyes away from the kid’s arm.

 

 

Peter was muttering, almost incoherently: “What- where’s… am I- gonna die alone…”

 

 

Tony knew what he must be going through all too well.

 

 

“Peter. Hey.” Tony raised his voice just a little to try and get the kid’s attention.

 

 

His words snapped Peter out of his muttering. He tried to raise his head. “Hey.”

 

 

All of a sudden, before Tony could continue, Peter was crying, strained sobs sending blades into Tony’s heart.

 

 

As the tears took him over, the pain only increased, and his sobs became punctuated with sharp gasps and winces.

 

 

Shit, now Tony was crying too.

 

 

He was grateful for the darkness now as he hovered closer to Peter, resuming talking to the kid, trying to minimize the pain the kid caused himself until the emergency services arrived.

 

 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t cry, don’t cry. I know it hurts- God, what you must be going through right now- but it’ll feel much better if you try and breathe. Promise. Just breathe.”

 

 

Tony was making too many promises he couldn’t keep tonight.

 

 

Peter hissed in a breath through his teeth. “But- I can’t breathe,” he whispered.

 

 

Tony was gritting his own teeth now, trying to be strong for the kid’s sake.

 

 

“Yes you can. Come on, breathe with me.”

 

 

Tony hovered as close to the rubble as he dared, looking Peter in the eye as he went through the breathing exercise.

 

 

Tony had no concept of time down there, so he had no idea how long it took to get the kid’s breathing back to normal- as normal as it could be under the circumstances.

 

 

But maybe he’d done something wrong, because all of a sudden Peter’s head dropped.

 

 

“Kid? Peter? You awake? Peter?”

 

 

Now Tony was panicking. He had no way of telling whether the kid was alive or not.

 

 

He cursed himself then for taking the kid’s suit away; this all might have been avoided if Peter had been wearing it, but it just so happened that he was in a pair of fucking sweatpants and a goddamn hoodie when this all went down.

 

 

“Peter!”

 

 

He hadn’t meant to yell, but he was desperate.

 

 

The shout brought Peter back to the land of the living, for sure; he flinched violently, whipping his head back up and inadvertently shifting under the slab of concrete crushing him. He cried out as his own movement dislodged a small piece of rubble which came crashing down over his back and injured arm.

 

 

The blood flow from his arm started up again as he tried to pull away from the impact; Tony got a glimpse of the mangled mess that was the poor kid’s arm.

 

 

There was nothing Tony could do except talk to him, get him to stop moving.

 

 

“Woah, Peter, slow down, okay? Stop moving. Please stop moving.” In a moment of panic, Tony took Peter’s uninjured left hand in his own iron-clad one.

 

 

The touch stilled Peter, whose head whipped around to stare at Tony.

 

 

The look in his eyes was one Tony had dreaded seeing in anyone he loved.

 

 

But hey, this whole situation was nightmare material.

 

 

“Mr. Stark?”

 

 

The name was choked out thinly.

 

 

Tony had to get that kid to drop the honorifics.

 

 

“Yeah, Peter, it’s me.”

 

 

Tony had already made a conscious decision to ignore his enforced detachment from the kid (because clearly enough damage had already been done) and call him by his name.

 

 

Peter let out a short burst of air, grimacing, and gripped Tony’s hand like a lifeline.

 

 

Who knew how much Peter remembered of their earlier conversations? “Okay, Peter, just hang on in there for another few minutes. The emergency services are on their way, they’re gonna get you out of there in no time. Just- stay awake for me, okay?”

 

 

Peter replied only with a soft groan.

 

 

Deciding to risk it, Tony put his free hand on the side of Peter’s face.

 

 

He was unable to get rid of his gauntlets, so he was touching the kid through the metal of the suit, but Peter leaned heavily into his hand all the same, shuddering a little.

 

 

Quietly, Tony spoke to FRIDAY: “What’s his skin temperature like?”

 

 

_“Very cold. He seems to be displaying many symptoms of-“_

 

 

“Severe blood loss, I know.”

 

 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter spoke without lifting his face to meet Tony’s.

 

 

“Yeah, kid?”

 

 

The kid’s wide deer-in-headlights eyes were fixed on him. “You’re real, right?”

 

 

Moving his hand up to Peter’s forehead to brush away a few strands of damp hair, Tony nodded. “Yeah, Pete, I’m real.”

 

 

Damn his cracking voice. Damn it.

 

 

It felt like an eternity that Tony spent down there with the kid, listening to him weep and groan and being completely unable to help.

 

 

There came a moment when they’d been quiet for a while and Tony lifted Peter’s face gently to check he was still awake to find a look of sheer terror there.

 

 

“Mr. Stark, I can’t do this. I can’t… I can’t do it anymore.”

 

 

It was whispered but carried the weight of a yell.

 

 

Then the crying started up again; shaky sobs which wracked his whole body.

 

 

Tony gripped the kid’s hand and, hovering even closer, pressed his forehead to Peter’s, not bothering to wipe away his own tears.

 

 

He spoke softly but urgently to him.

 

 

“Yes you can. I know you can do this, Peter. I know it’s hard, it’s so hard and you never should have gone through this, but you’re the strongest and bravest guy I’ve ever met, and I know you can do this. Okay? You will get through this, I promise.”

 

 

Through his speech, Peter continued to sob, the teardrops falling on Tony’s cheeks before dropping to the floor.

 

 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t do it, I can’t…” he breathed.

 

 

“Yes you can, Peter, you can do it with me. I’m here. You’re not alone. You can do it.”

 

 

“How much longer?” it was punctuated with a sharp sucking-in of breath which sounded a little like determination.

 

 

Tony didn’t know.

 

 

“You’ll be out soon.”

 

 

“How soon?” It was a cry, a plea for help from a terrified little boy and Tony didn’t think he could do this anymore either.

 

 

He sighed shakily. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I don’t know.”

 

 

Softly, Tony rubbed his forehead back and forth across the kid’s, hoping the motion would soothe him. Peter let out a hiccup and fell into Tony’s touch.

 

 

Thank fucking God the emergency services finally decided to turn up then.

 

 

A blinding white beam joined his suit lights in illuminating the shadows of the fallen warehouse.

 

 

It exposed Peter’s predicament to an extent where Tony was tempted to avert his eyes, and caused the kid to whine in pain and tug his free hand away from Tony’s in an attempt to cover his eyes.

 

 

“Hey, mind dimming the lights up there?” Tony shouted. “He’s… uh, sensitive.”

 

 

There was no change in the lights.

 

 

Tony sighed, and broke away reluctantly from Peter, murmuring to him: “Sorry about the light, kid, but we’re gonna get you out now. I’m coming back in a few seconds, okay?”

 

 

Blinking away his tears now for propriety’s sake, he landed on solid ground again just outside the wrecked industrial park.

 

 

Waiting for him there was a pretty decent-sized team of cops, firefighters and medics, all bewildered at the scene that confronted them.

 

 

It probably wasn’t often that they saw Tony Stark in the Iron Man suit emerging from a collapsed warehouse in which a 15-year old kid was trapped.

 

 

“How is he?” asked one of the fire crew.

 

 

“Just a tiny bit dying.” Tony smiled humorlessly, neck muscles tensing. “Wanna get him out of there now before he loses the rest of his blood?”

 

 

Sometimes, being Tony Stark paid off. The team got right to work, setting up some contraption which he presumed would lift the concrete off of Peter.

 

 

Ignoring the calls to stay back from the danger zone, Tony descended back into the mess and made a beeline for Peter.

 

 

If that kid could have looked any worse than before, he definitely did.

 

 

Shit, shit, shit.

 

 

Tony'd only left for a minute or two, but Peter's lips were an alarming navy blue and there was sweat dripping from his face in place of the tears that had been there earlier.

 

 

“Mr. Stark,” was his mumbled call.

 

 

“Kid. What’s up?”

 

 

It took him a good couple seconds to form his reply, which was barely intelligible when it did arrive.

 

 

“Woah... Mr.- I’m really, Stark… Where’s- feeling kinda dizzy…”

 

 

Peter’s hand flailed vaguely around him; his eyes were unfocused, roving the space around him.

 

 

“Woah, woah, woah- okay- steady, Pete.” Tony caught Peter’s wrist gently, cupping the side of his slackened jaw with his other hand.

 

 

His breaths were too shallow again, catching in his chest. Slowly, his eyelids were inching lower across his eyes.

 

 

“No, no, no, don’t go to sleep just yet. Peter? Stay with me, kid.” Tony’s eyebrows pulled together as he squeezed the kid’s hand a little more urgently, but Peter had gone limp in his hands, eyelids sliding shut.

 

 

His heart sank a few stories to the warehouse floor and skipped a couple of beats for good measure.

 

 

He had to wake the kid up.

 

 

He tried to yell as softly as possible, knowing the smallest sound would get picked up by his super-hearing, but it took a few tries until he startled awake with a whimper.

 

 

Immediately, Tony lowered his pitch: “I’m so sorry, kid, but you have to stay awake until we get this stuff off you. Can you do that?”

 

 

Peter looked close to foaming at the mouth, but he nodded loosely.

 

 

“You’re doing so good, Pete. Just hang on for a couple minutes, alright?”

 

 

A hum of compliance was the only response he got.

 

 

The worst part had to be when they got the concrete off the kid. Tony had to step back, and Peter looked so lost and alone down there that Tony had to dig his heels into the ground to stop himself from getting right back down there.

 

 

It took so, so long. They couldn’t remove it too quickly or it would kill the kid.

 

 

Snapping back to his senses a little, Tony screwed up his courage and made a few calls.

 

 

The first was to Ned.

 

 

“Hey, Ned, this is Tony again. I’m calling because Peter… isn’t able to right now.”  


 

_“What do you mean, Mr. Stark?”_

 

 

Tony pushed out a breath and dropped his head into gauntlet-clad hands. “You were right. He got himself into some trouble back at the industrial park. He’s not gonna be at school tomorrow.”

 

 

 _"Sir, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”_ The tone was of a kid who definitely had some idea of what Tony was trying to say.

 

 

“I found him stuck under concrete, and he’s pretty banged up. He’s gonna- have to go to the hospital.”

 

 

Tony was glad Peter had made such good friends. Ned was distraught at the news, but Tony had nothing to console the kid. He felt hollowed out.

 

 

The next was a voicemail for Pepper:

 

 

“Pepper, don’t expect me back for a little while. It’s not a mission, I’m fine, so please don’t worry. It’s… it’s Peter Parker. Got himself into some trouble. Yeah. Uh, I’ll text you when I’m getting back? I don’t know when I’ll return. Sorry.”

 

 

Finally, as the mechanism began to inch back out of the pit that had been the warehouse, he called May.

 

 

How he was going to go about this, he hadn't really planned.

 

 

She didn't pick up for a little while, as if she was considering whether to take the call. _“Tony Stark. I'd ask you what you were doing up this late, but if I knew you half as well as I did I wouldn't need to."_

 

 

"May." Tony couldn't force the words out of his mouth anymore.

 

 

 _"Tony."_ She was perceptive enough to notice something was up.

 

 

Tony’s own breaths were getting shakier now. He knuckled his eyes fiercely as he tried to break the news gently to her. “May, it's Peter- he’s… I don’t know- no, I do… Okay, I’m gonna tell this plainly to you.”

 

 

_"Did something happen? Have you seen him? I thought he was a little late coming back from Homecoming."_

 

 

"Yeah-" Fuck, what was he supposed to say? "Look, I... I can't tell you why, but- he's in an old industrial park just out of town, but it collapsed and-"  
  


 

 

In an instant, she flipped like a switch from conversational to murderous. _"Okay, I don't care how this happened, but don't tell me you hurt my kid. Tell me he's alright."_

 

 

"I'm... pretty sure he's gonna live."

 

 

 _"What the hell? That's not good enough, Tony!"_ A note of fear broke through the crack in her voice.

 

 

"I know -May, I am so sorry, this was my fault-"

 

 

_"Your fault how?"_

 

 

"I can't- just get over here. He needs you."

 

 

Dimly, he could hear rustling sounds that probably meant May was already on her way out to the site. _“Talk to me, Tony. How is he?”_

 

 

“He’s- fuck it, May, he’s been under the rubble for a good few hours now and it’s taking so long to get him out and there’s a piece in his arm and they might have to amputate I’m so sorry I let this happen.”

 

 

Godamnit.

 

 

He gripped his left arm with his right hand to assure himself it was still there.

 

 

_“But he’ll live. He’ll get better, right?”_

 

 

It was the second time that night that Tony didn’t know.

 

 

He didn’t know if May’s kid was gonna make it, and he wished he didn’t have to be the person to tell that to her, but it was his fault and he had to.

 

 

This time, he told the truth.

 

 

He didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OoOf i wrote the whole Tony/May phone conversation with May aware of Peter's identity then realised she doesn't know anything yet, fml :|  
> Thanks for the support on the first chapter, I promise the angst will ease off a little and y'all will get a well-deserved side dish of fluff!  
> Have a great day, I love you all! xx


	3. Chapter 3

Tony hadn’t blinked in a while.

 

 

His eyes were fixated, unwavering, on a single pale shape in the rubble, a shape which was becoming more and more visible as a red crane continually delved into its depths and brought out slabs of concrete.

 

 

He was forbidden from staying with the kid while the whole process went down, but there were a few medics down there, ready to drug him up as soon as it was safe to do so and get him to the hospital.

 

 

They’d given him the courtesy of a speaker phone left beside Peter so Tony could keep talking to him; he unearthed a fountain of encouraging words he never knew he possessed while he kept the kid calm.

 

 

Whenever he heard a gasp or groan of pain or the slightest hitch in Peter’s breath, that fountain inexplicably opened up.

 

 

“Alright, kiddo, keep listening to me. Don’t think about the pain; just listen to what I’m saying. You’re doing great. I called your friend, Ned, and I gotta hand it to you: you made some terrific friends. He can’t wait to see you back in school again.”

 

 

“Mister Stark?”

 

 

Tony picked up immediately on the slur of panic in the words, and replied softly: “It’s gonna be alright, Pete.”

 

 

“No. Where’s… where’s May?”

 

 

Tony was impressed by how coherent Peter still was, but that didn’t stop him from gaining a few extra grey hairs as he tried to put the kid at peace.

 

 

“She’s on her way, but she doesn’t know. I figured you’d like it better that way?”

 

 

There was a shaky sigh on the other end of the line.

 

 

“Don’t worry, she’s-“

 

 

Tony’s words were cut off as he heard a sound which tore through him like a bullet.

 

 

He’d witnessed many screams in his lifetime, but none as heart-shattering as this: a high-pitched, panicked, despairing wail which ripped itself from a throat raw from endless crying and seemed to last an eternity and then some.

 

 

It echoed simultaneously from the phone pressed to his ear and the rubble in front of him.

 

 

Abandoning the safety distance, Tony ran to the edge of the pit and yelled: “Peter!”

 

 

Squinting, he could see the kid trying to move around under the final piece of concrete, free hand curled violently around a piece of shit strewn nearby.

 

 

He let his instincts pull him back down into the mess, back to Peter.

 

 

Without even thinking, Tony had pressed his forehead to the kid’s scarily cold one again and tugged the now-bleeding hand away from the rubble and into his own.

 

 

It creeped him out a little, how quickly he slipped into Dad Mode, but he didn’t question it at the time, rubbing small circles onto Peter’s wrist and speaking in a low, soothing tone:

 

 

“Peter, Peter, what happened?”

 

 

The kid’s forehead trembled against his, cold sweat meeting the adrenaline-fuelled heat coming from Tony.

 

 

The reply was faint, shivery: “I-they tried to move something… I’m sorry-“

 

 

“Hey, don’t be sorry, bud. You’re doing so good. It’s alright. Try to breathe, okay? Just so we can get this last bit off you, and then you’re home free home.”

 

 

Peter’s lips were pressed together in a hard but trembling line. “I’ll try,” he whispered, catching Tony’s eye briefly.

 

 

“You’re so brave, kid.”

 

 

Tony didn’t notice what was taking place around him; it was just Peter, him and Peter.

 

 

And it wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all.

 

 

At a loss for consoling words, Tony started to recite every passage of fiction, every positive quotation, every snatch of poetry he’d learned throughout his life, interwoven as he recalled words in bursts.

 

 

This seemed even more successful in keeping Peter calm; the kid’s head slowly dropped to nestle on his shoulder, fingers going slack in Tony’s.

 

 

Damn it, Tony was getting all mushy now.

 

 

And- what the hell?

 

 

Trying not to disturb the kid, Tony craned his neck around to get a glimpse at what the emergency team had been up to.

 

 

They had already secured the concrete on his back and were motioning gently at him to get back. The area around his arm was almost clear.

 

 

He shot a grateful glance in the general direction of the crane and turned back to Peter with urgency.

 

 

“Alright, Pete, they’re gonna get this shit off you now.”

 

 

There was no mistaking the current of tension that ran through the hand now gripping his.

 

 

“We’re really close. Don’t be scared, alright? I’ll be right here with you, just a bit further back.”

 

 

As gently as possible, Tony broke free from Peter’s grip and hovered a little further back.

 

 

Peter continued to bore a panicked hole into him with his eyes.

 

 

“Peter. You sure you’re good?”

 

 

“Do it.” It was said with more determination than should have been logically possible for someone in this situation.

 

 

Tony cracked a sympathetic grin. Gave a thumbs up to the team behind him without taking his eyes off of the trapped kid in front of him.

 

 

Raising his voice marginally so Peter could hear it above the mechanical whir of the crane and the conversations of the emergency team, Tony kept talking, telling stories, distracting.

 

 

It was only when the stone began to lift that the problems started.

 

 

The weight was lifting so slowly Tony could barely see it rise, but Peter could clearly feel it.

 

 

The scream he let out was muffled by gritted teeth, choked, shocked.

 

 

“Peter.” Tony’s voice rose to a near-shout; he stared Peter down. “Scream if you want to. Let it all out. It’s okay.”

 

 

Breathing in harsh gasps, Peter nodded.

 

 

“I’ll start.” Tony pointed to himself, aware that the kid would be reluctant to scare the emergency team.

 

 

So damn _polite._

He swallowed, and yelled. Long and hard, until he felt the veins tensing in his face and blood rushing through him like fire.

 

 

All the time, his eyes remained on Peter, showing him that he was okay.

 

 

He did this a lot. Locked himself in a sound-proofed room and yelled. By the time he’d stopped, the thrum in his head was violent enough that it blocked out the memories.

 

 

When he was done, he gave the kid an encouraging smile.

 

 

“Try it.”

 

 

Peter’s face was screwed up in pain; he sucked in a sharp breath and screamed.

 

 

It felt good.

 

 

His vision was going spotty at the edges: if he focused on that, and on Tony’s face in front of him, he could almost forget the agony, the strange feeling of weightlessness.

 

 

All through it, Tony was encouraging him: “Yeah, that’s good, Peter. C’mon. Keep yelling. Feels nice, doesn’t it? Keep going, Pete! You’re so close, you’re so close, you’re so close…”

 

 

And then it was off, and Peter’s head spun from the sustained yell and the feeling of weightlessness; he was tethered to the earth only by the hazy image of Tony before him.

 

 

The team of medics had been poised, ready to intervene as soon as he was free, and burst into action now, brandishing a frightening array of needles which the kid did not seem too thrilled by.

 

 

A lot of lingo that Tony couldn’t make head or tail of was being batted about: “check the 5 P’s…” “Possible hypocalcaemia…” “Have to apply the arterial tourniquet before…” “Central venous catheter…” “Non-rebreather mask…” “Make sure his ABC is all good…”

 

 

Tony pulled away one of the team and spoke in a low but urgent tone. “Whatever is going on right now, you’re gonna need me. Peter- he’s not a normal kid… Just let me stay with him while you finish this-“

 

 

He hadn’t been aware of the raised voices coming from around the kid until he picked up the gagging sound.

 

 

Tony’s head whipped around to assess the situation.

 

 

What had he expected?

 

 

In the few seconds he’d turned away, Peter had managed to projectile-vomit onto the nearest medic, start up shivering like a wet puppy, and burst into tears.

 

 

Fuck it. The kid needed Tony, no matter what the medics said.

 

 

He elbowed through the small crowd surrounding Peter like he was some sort of experiment, feeling this strange surge of protectiveness through his veins. He went straight for the kid’s hair this time, threading his fingers through damp curls and getting some selfish pleasure out of the sensation.

 

 

Peter’s head sunk into the hollow between his shoulder and neck once more. It felt like a routine already. He wouldn’t let up the tears this time.

 

 

“Oh, Peter.” Tony could feel the fuzzy top of Peter’s hair tickling his chin; it brought a lump to his throat.

 

 

He sensed Peter’s head trembling. “Hey, it’s okay.”

 

 

When the kid spoke up, his voice shook too, but it sounded like… shivering? “Hu-h- M’sr S’rk-“

 

 

More retching noises followed, but at this point Tony couldn’t care less if he got vomit on him.

 

 

“Mr. Stark.” It came from the still-vomit-covered medic behind him. She seemed unfazed by it, and a lot more concerned by the deathly-pale and shivering kid in his arms.

 

 

“Can you get to him around me?” Tony was completely serious for once in his life.

 

 

Raking a hand through her hair, the medic sighed and nodded. “We’ll try. But if we say move, you move.”

 

 

Peter was making little broken gasping noises against his shoulder which made his heart hurt.

 

 

The team got to work, handing Tony an oxygen mask to fit onto the kid, draping a blanket over him, checking his pulse, wrapping his right upper arm with a strange-looking bandage which seemed to be called a tourniquet in preparation for removing the final piece of concrete, asking him about how much pain he was feeling, inserting a few needles into his free arm to keep his levels as close to stable as possible.

 

 

Preparing to get this shit off of him.

 

 

Tony stuck with the kid through it all, playing with his hair when the needles went in and he felt tension run through him, reminding him that he was in safe hands when his limbs and back were checked for blood flow, making sure he knew how damn brave he was being.

 

 

May hadn’t arrived yet, but when she did there would be no avoiding the truth about Spider-Man. Tony hadn’t forgotten that Peter was still in his homemade suit. The emergency team hadn’t questioned it yet.

 

 

Tony didn’t know why he hadn’t just told the kid’s aunt over the phone. Maybe because it was just too much to impart in one call. Maybe because he hadn’t wanted to lie to peter when he said his identity was still safe.

 

 

He didn’t have the heart to break it to Peter that his aunt was going to find out; he’d only just got him calm.

 

 

Right now, it was the least of his worries.

 

 

When they slowly asked him, “If you could rate your pain from 1 to 10, where would it be?” and he answered so quietly only Tony heard him (“uh, ten?”), he felt something inside him cave in.

 

 

They decided it was safe enough to administer analgesia and Tony breathed thanks into Peter’s hair.

 

 

“Hey, Pete,” he said to the kid. “It’s gonna stop hurting in a few minutes, alright? You don’t have to hurt anymore.”

 

 

Peter only responded with an uneven burst of sobs, muffled from the crumpled oxygen mask he still wore.

 

 

“Shhhh,” muttered Tony, a hand carding through the kid’s hair.

 

 

He wondered how much of this Peter would remember later on.

 

 

He was pretty certain that he wouldn’t recall much of what happened after he was all drugged up and they started to remove the concrete from where it had been embedded his arm.

 

 

By some miracle, Tony had managed to convince the team to up the dosage to assure he wouldn’t feel anything.

 

 

Maybe it was the homemade costume he still wore that tipped them off on his advanced metabolism. Maybe they’d put two and two together when they found him still alive after being crushed under a weight that would have killed a grown man in an instant.

 

 

Within a few minutes, Peter was so far out Tony wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d taken a nap right there in the rubble, konked out on Tony’s shoulder.

 

 

His incoherent babbling was music to his ears after all the cries of pain.

 

 

It also meant Peter’s rather… clingier side was revealed in his drug-fuelled haze.

 

 

A few minutes after the painkillers had set in and the medics were about to remove the brunt of the concrete; Peter nearly gave the team a heart attack when he suddenly attempted to throw his arms around Tony, only wincing slightly when the rubble lodged itself deeper into his upper right arm and nuzzling his forehead gently into Tony’s collarbone with a hum of satisfaction.

 

 

When Tony flinched in shock, the kid only gazed glassily up at him with a small frown puckering his brow and murmured, “Ms’r Stark?”

 

 

Tony hadn’t the heart to alert the kid of what he’d done to himself; he would do anything to get that frown off his face. So he flashed a small smile, however wrong it felt, and Peter relaxed back into his arms with a little giggle that made Tony’s heart flip.

 

 

It was so wrong in the situation, but it was the sweetest thing he’d heard.

 

 

And then the concrete was out and there was a sea of gauze across the entirety of Peter’s arm and Tony had no idea how bad the damage was and the sun was just beginning to rise, gently illuminating the dark corners of the warehouse.

 

 

And then, someone was tapping him on the shoulder and asking him to step away, and he flew back to the surface and watched them lifting the kid onto a stretcher with all the fluid tubes still attached to him, still lying on his stomach,

 

 

And Tony was more tired than he’d been in his life.

 

 

He wasn’t aware that he was rocking back and forth where he sat on the ground, head hung and staring at nothing, until a panicked voice cut through the drilling in his head that was his inner condemnation, which told him all this was his fault and he should never have walked in that kid’s door in the first place.

 

 

“Tony? Tony, where’s Peter? Tony!”

 

 

He started up from his place on the floor and met the kid’s aunt May where she stood, as if afraid to look down into the rubble. Hair in a messy bun, wire-rimmed glasses askew, huge woollen sweater over a pair of ratty jeans, look of primal terror in her eyes.

 

 

At a loss for consoling words, Tony gestured towards the pit. “He’s nearly out…”

 

 

May was already jogging to the edge of the safe zone. Tony followed her at a slower pace.

 

 

She stood and watched the medics attaching Peter’s stretcher to the crane for so long Tony thought she’d just shut down then and there. But then she whipped around to face him. “You just left him down there while they got him out?”

 

 

“No, I only just left. I- stayed with him the whole time.” Tony’s right hand snaked up his left arm, squeezing the wrist of his numbing left arm. He looked down, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

 

 

He heard the shift in May’s tone before she even started speaking. “… Thank you, Tony. Thanks.”

 

 

Tony glanced up again. May looked as lost as him.

 

 

“Guess you’re wondering why he’s here right now?”

 

 

May huffed out a breath. “Yeah,” she replied.

 

 

And in that moment, Tony saw the knowledge in her eyes.

 

 

“It’s him, right?” asked May slowly.

 

 

“I’m sorry. This was my fault, I took his suit away after the whole Staten Island ferry thing and if he’d been wearing it when this happened he might have been able to get out but I was just trying to-“

 

 

“Tony.” She levelled him with a look.

 

 

One look, and it told him that she didn’t blame him.

 

 

And it somehow only made things worse inside his turbulent mind.

 

 

But May wasn’t looking at him anymore: she was peering over his shoulder and starting towards the stretcher which was now on a trolley and ready to be wheeled into the waiting ambulance.

 

 

She burst into a hurried jog again, rushing to Peter’s side, yelling, “Peter?”

 

 

His faint cry of “May?” was enough to spur both of them into movement.

 

 

In the early morning light, Peter looked even paler, and Tony was reminded of the fact that he’d been under the rubble for a total of six hours.

 

 

Six fucking hours.

 

 

May went straight for Peter, lowering herself to his level, letting him grab her hand and cupping the side of his face with her other.

 

 

Peter pulled off his oxygen mask. Tony noticed a raspy quality that hadn’t been there before when he said, “May.”

 

 

Tony stationed himself at Peter’s other side; the kid’s gaze drifted between the two slowly.

 

 

He spoke softly to May: “he’s on painkillers so he isn’t hurting anymore. He’s alright.”  


 

May barely noticed, burying her face in Peter’s neck.

 

 

The kid reciprocated the embrace with one arm, trying to hide his wince, and Tony saw the fear in his face as clearly as if he was staring into a river.

 

 

Knowing Peter would hear him, Tony spoke in a low whisper, so quiet he couldn’t hear it himself: “It’s all good, kid.” Meaning, he could relax about the whole Spider-Man thing.

 

 

This didn’t seem to give Peter any comfort. Come to think of it, he looked like shit. Like, shittier than before.

 

 

Of course he chose then to vomit a second time, all over the back of May’s sweater.

 

 

May leapt back instinctively, mouth open.

 

 

Tony sprang into action once again.

 

 

He shot a quick “Don’t worry, not the first time,” at May and replaced her by the kid’s side, trying to fight down a surge of panic as he saw Peter writhing on the stretcher, grabbing his wrist firmly and putting a hand across his forehead.

 

 

Cold. Ice-cold, and sweating.

 

 

“Peter, Peter,” he breathed, trying to get the kid’s attention; his eyes were roving wildly around, looking anywhere but Tony.

 

 

Peter responded only with a low, sustained groan, dragging the heel of his hand over his chest roughly.

 

 

Tony had no idea what the hell this was, but replacing the oxygen mask couldn’t do any harm, so he did that.

 

 

Medics arrived at his call from the collapsed warehouse, arms full of equipment, took one look at him, muttered “Blood loss and kidney failure,” and rushed to load him into the ambulance van.

 

 

“Wait, what the fuck is going on?” Tony shouted after the bustling medics.

 

 

Dimly in his peripheral, he noticed May minus a sweater following the crowd towards the ambulance.

 

 

A young and haggard-looking man turned back and spoke. “We need to get him to the hospital fast; he’s showing signs of shock and kidney problems.”

 

 

The man turned away from him, faltered, and then turned back, a different look in his eyes.

 

 

“How old is he?”

 

 

Tony blew out a breath.

 

 

“Fifteen.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

According to procedure, only one “relative” of the injured person could ride in the ambulance with them, and May had driven to the site, so she was forced to take her car with her. Tony would be the only one who’d ride with the kid.

 

 

It was flattering, the faith May had in Tony.

 

 

When he protested, saying that Peter would be much better off with her, she smiled a little and gave him a look that made him think she knew something he didn’t.

 

 

“He’s in great hands.”

 

 

Tony didn’t actually see much of Peter, or at least not close up; every medic that could fit into the ambulance was clustered around him, trying to keep him alive.

 

 

This left Tony to his own devices: he spent most of his time staring at the floor, drumming a heel against the floor incessantly as something burned at the base of his throat and the edges of his vision that he didn’t want to admit was tears.

 

 

He continued to push breaths out from his thick throat. As long as he was conscious, he was fine.

 

 

And then the car had stopped and people were yelling at him to move and he did, stumbling a little, and trailed the stretcher as it was wheeled urgently towards the front doors of the hospital.

 

 

From amidst all the noise, Tony heard a strained, “Mr. Stark?”

 

 

He’d never hear that name the same again after all of this.

 

 

“Kid.” Tony wove through the team surrounding Peter and stretched out a hand to clasp in the kid’s, still jogging alongside him.

 

 

Peter’s pupils were like pinpoints, breaths coming short and fast.

 

 

Sensory overload?

 

 

“Hey, don’t think about all the noise. Try to- try to just zero in on me, alright?”

 

 

The kid nodded jerkily, hurriedly trying to control his breathing.

 

 

“Let’s breathe together again, alright? Come on. Keep looking at me.”

 

 

They were in the ICU by the time some semblance of calm had come over the kid, and Tony had to leave again.

 

 

Without thinking, Tony had pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead, fingers tangling in his hair.

 

 

“I believe in you,” he said.

 

 

Peter’s eyes had widened, but not with panic.

 

 

“Okay,” he replied.

 

 

Tony felt the kid’s eyes on him long after he left the room.

 

 

He went to the bathroom and woodenly washed the blood and grime from his hands and face.

 

 

And then, somehow, he was on the floor, head leaning against the tiles on the wall. Mind like a film reel, just replaying Peter’s screams on a loop.

 

 

There was no sound-proof room this time, nowhere to hide his coping mechanisms.

 

 

So he said it aloud: “Fuck it.”

 

 

And he did his shouting right there.

 

 

Just as he was building up steam, someone ran in and rushed to his side.

 

 

“Tony, what the fuck?”

 

 

“May, what the fuck?” Startled, he edged away from the kid’s aunt, who was now crouching on the floor of the men’s toilets beside him.

 

 

“Tony!”

 

 

Tony was at a loss. “May!”

 

 

“You were screaming, so I had to come in and check!”

 

 

“You _recognized my scream,_ and then took a peek into the _men’s room_ to _check it was me_?”

 

 

May looked flustered. They were both on the brink of… something.

 

 

“…Yes!”

 

 

There was an awkward silence, and then May flopped back onto the floor to join Tony there and they stared at the opposite wall together.

 

 

“How did it happen?” May asked, her drawn-up legs making her look younger than she was.

 

 

“It was some guy, a weapons dealer, some dickwad in a wingsuit who thought it’d be clever to try and steal my stuff. And of course, Peter- he got involved, being the self-sacrificing… punk that he is.”

 

 

Tony barely had the heart to call him that anymore.

 

 

“And then he got into that mess on the Staten Island Ferry… and I took the suit I made him away, just to try and get him to see that he couldn’t go and throw himself in the path of every criminal in Queens. He didn’t need to. He needed to enjoy his life as a normal kid.

 

 

“But it turns out that was a major screw-up on my part because Peter’s the sort of guy who won’t give up on saving other people, ever, and I didn’t know that. And then he went and left his Homecoming early and chased down that weapons dealer, again, and tried _so hard,_ and nearly got himself fucking killed in the process.”

 

 

May shifted a little, turning towards him and catching his eye sternly. “You know it’s not your fault. You never could have known and-“

 

 

“No, but it _is_ my fault. I should have seen that nothing will stop this kid from protecting everyone he can, and just stayed the fuck out of his life, because now he’s got attached and he’s getting himself killed because of me and my stupid bitch-off with Steve Rogers and my screwed-up ideals, and he doesn’t deserve that, he doesn’t deserve any of this shit that is going on in his life. He deserves to be happy and instead he’s living a double life filled with danger and stress and hurt and it’s most certainly my fault.”

 

 

May just shook her head.

 

 

“Yeah, it’s my fault too.”

 

 

Tony’s head whipped around. “Are you serious?”  


 

“Yes. It’s my fault because I should have known, should have pressed further when I asked him where he’d been after the Staten Island thing and he made up some bullshit excuse, I should have put two and two together when I heard him coming in the damn _window_ one night, I should have been more lenient when he told me he was tired and I didn’t listen, because I thought it was an excuse, but he’d been out all night saving people he’d never met and he was probably _shattered_. I should have been a better parent and talked to him about grief and worked through everything with him.”

 

 

“That’s not true. You never could have known…”  


 

He stopped in his tracks, realising he’d just repeated her words, and had a confusing moment of self-reconciliation or- something?

 

 

“Huh.” Tony ran his tongue over his upper teeth, bemused.

 

 

“Yup,” was May’s flippant reply. “Your guilt complex is impressive, may I say.”

 

 

“And vice versa.” Tony couldn’t muster up any sarcasm in his tone; the remark was flat.

 

 

May’s face fell as soon as it had brightened. “He’s gone in for surgery, then?”

 

 

Tony nodded wordlessly, feeling like a black hole.

 

 

It took the breath out of his lungs when May leaned her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t a romantic gesture- Tony would know if it was- but he hadn’t expected it.

 

 

The stayed like that for a while: Tony accepting the touch a little awkwardly but not reciprocating it. Then his arm rose from where it had been braced against the floor to sling around May’s shoulder.

 

 

The breath he’d been holding released.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tony and May hadn’t really thought about how long the surgery would take.

 

 

After three hours of fitful napping in a private waiting room, some guy with a clipboard and a grave expression knocked on the door to speak to them.

 

 

“I’m really sorry it has come to this, Ms. Parker, Mr. Stark… but we wanted to let you know before we went ahead with this particular part of the procedure. We’re going to have to amputate Mr. Parker’s arm; too much damage has been done to salvage the nerves.”

 

 

May’s hand clutched at Tony’s impulsively.

 

 

Tony had been dreading this since the moment he set eyes on the kid’s mangled arm.

 

 

“May…”

 

 

But May’s mouth was set in a firm line, so similar to Peter that Tony had to blink the kid’s image away from her.

 

 

“Alright.” She smiled sadly, visibly fighting to keep the corners of her mouth turned up.

 

 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Parker.”

 

 

As soon as the doctor was out of the room, May’s floodgates opened and she sank into Tony, yet another person he was obligated to comfort before himself.

 

 

“My baby is broken, and we can’t fix him.” May’s hands fisted in Tony’s still-bloodstained shirt.

 

 

Sometimes, it went like this: Tony could feel too much, the harsh feel of the plastic chair under him and the flickering lights overhead and the feeling of a desperate woman’s hands gripping him and the sound of sobs and the all-too-clear memories of darkness and screams of pain and suffocating dust and utter helplessness-

 

 

And then it all left him, like an empty beach at low tide, and he was in a vacuum where he didn’t have to think about anything because he couldn’t.

 

 

It wasn’t bad, the feeling of nothing. It was better than everything. But pressing at the back of his mind was this bad feeling, lingering in the shadows.

 

 

He pushed it away and sat vacantly as May sobbed into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I learned a lot about treating victims of crush trauma while writing this chapter!  
> The main reason it took a while to get out is because I was clueing up on technical stuff and trying to fit it in an understandable way into the chapter. In other words, I'm ready to receive my PhD.  
> This fic is turning out a tiny bit (2 chapters) longer than I thought it would be initially, so enjoy all the angst, kids, because fluff will arrive in Chapter 4, I promise this time!  
> Love you all, have a great day! xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than usual to release- the next two chapters will be released a little slower because term's starting and life is clogging up my writing time :/

Peter came to alone, and jumped.

 

 

Lights? It was pitch black down there. On his back? He’d been on his stomach. The warm blanket covering him? Not real.

 

 

Surely?

 

 

And Tony-

 

 

Tony bolted up from his seat in Peter’s room in the ICU and nearly tripped on his way to the kid’s bedside.

 

 

Where the hell had his co-ordination gone?

 

 

The kid was awake.

 

 

They’d finished surgery an hour or so ago, wheeled him back in under a mountain of blankets to keep his body temp up and a neat array of needles and tubes in his arm, a nasogastric tube in his nose.

 

 

They’d finally cleaned him up; his curls had fanned out a little on the pillow.

 

 

Tony hadn’t seen his arm yet. He wanted Peter to be ready before he showed people.

 

 

That, and Tony wasn’t sure he was ready yet.

 

 

Tony had sat there a long time, lost in his vacuum, gazing at the broken kid in front of him.

 

 

And then, with a jolt, Peter’s eyes had flown open, and Tony broke back into reality just like breaking the surface of the water after being under for too long, and the kid was floundering like he, too, was lost in the ocean.

 

 

He was sucking in breaths, a shaking hand tugging at the layers of blankets piled on top of him.

 

 

In a moment of clarity, Tony recognized Peter’s fear- he thought he was still under the warehouse- and tore the covers from him in order to calm his panic, to show him it was alright now.

 

 

An action which ended up achieving the complete opposite effect.

 

 

As the blankets came away in Tony’s fisted hand, Peter’s hospital-gown-clad form was revealed, along with the mass of gauze around his right shoulder, and the empty space where his arm should have been.

 

 

“Shit-” blurted Tony, instantly regretting what he’d done, but the kid just stared as if in a trance down at his shoulder, after which his arm ended.

 

 

The pair were both stock-still for a good few seconds, Peter craning his neck to see his arm, or lack thereof, and Tony uselessly gripping the array of blankets.

 

 

Tony put a gentle palm on the side of Peter’s face, hating the feel of the nasal tube between his skin and the kid’s, and spoke in a low voice: “Peter? You good?”

 

 

He knew full well the kid was not _good,_ but what else was he supposed to say?

 

 

Peter glanced up then at Tony, the betrayed expression in his impossibly wide eyes nearly bowling Tony over.

 

 

He let out a confused little whimper, only further fleshing out Tony’s mental image of a puppy, and then started to tremble, breath hitching painfully.

 

 

“No, no, no. Peter…”

 

 

But Peter flinched away from his touch, backing away from him as far as his tubes would allow, clearly teetering on the verge of a panic attack, and Tony couldn’t help at all this time because the kid didn’t want him to.

 

 

For lack of a better option, Tony backed off, dropping the blankets, and held his arms up in a position of surrender. To tell the truth, he felt almost as overwhelmed as the kid right now, but that could wait, and it would.

 

 

“Peter. It’s alright. Try to breathe, alright? You wanna try and breathe with me again?” Tony’s back was against the wall now, and he lowered his voice to try and minimize the kid’s sensory input, but it was too late now.

 

 

Tony cursed under his breath: Peter’s head was braced back against the pillow, hand gripping the rail of his hospital bed; eyes squeezed shut as he lost all control of his breathing.

 

 

He was sobbing, teeth clenched, legs curling up erratically under him, breath coming in violent gasps.

 

 

It was torture to sit by for the slightest second and watch the kid in this kind of turmoil. Tony couldn’t bear it.

 

 

So he crossed the short distance back to the kid’s bed and slowly prised his fingers from the rail, letting them curl around Tony’s own fist instead.

 

 

Cracking his eyelids open a fraction, Peter realized it was still Tony by his side and seemed to relax a little without thinking.

 

 

Tony quickly folded the rails down from the sides of the bed so he could get to the kid easier. Not expecting any eye contact from Peter, he spoke in that low, soothing tone he’d somehow gained mastery of within the past few hours.

 

 

“Pete. Try to listen to me, alright? I know it feels like your world is- crashing down around you at this point, but it will get better. I promise you it will get better.”

 

 

Without opening his eyes, Peter spoke in between breaths that sounded more like sobs. “It’s gone? I didn’t think- just gone? Forever?”

 

 

Tony’s hand went impulsively to Peter’s hair, cupping the back of his head in his free hand.

 

 

“I’m so sorry, kid.”

 

 

Peter’s mouth opened and closed but no sound escaped. When his eyelids lifted again, his eyes were filled with tears.

 

 

And it was Tony who was there to go through that damned breathing exercise again, to wipe the tear tracks from his eyes after his breathing was breathing again and not shaky gasps, to let his fist be crushed by Peter’s superhuman grip, to press kisses into his hair, to whisper promises he wouldn’t be able to keep.

 

 

They spent a while like that: Tony bent over the bed, fist enclosed in the fingers on Peter’s only remaining hand, gently ruffling the kid’s hair with his breath, his thumb tracing little circles into a fragile shoulder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Miraculously, the kid had avoided severe kidney damage, so they only put him on dialysis for a few days. The only major problem, after they got his blood levels and everything sorted, was the pain in his limbs.

 

 

His muscles would seize up at random intervals, and although Peter never complained, the look on his face when he thought Tony wasn’t looking was enough to tip him off as to how much it hurt him.

 

 

“Peter, is it hurting you?”

 

 

“It’s fine-“

 

 

“That’s not what I asked. Does it hurt?”  


 

Peter turned his head away from Tony, sighed. “Yeah.”

 

 

“Pete, you gotta tell me when it hurts, okay? You have to tell someone. Because that’s the only way we can make it better.”

 

 

Peter was squirming a little. “I…“ he sighed again.

 

 

“It’s okay. Talk to me if you want, I’m not fussed.” Tony tilted his head a little, trying to regain a veneer of nonchalance.

 

 

Peter took a few breaths and then turned somewhat intensely back to Tony. “I just- don’t want other people to hurt because of- because of me. That’s happened too many times already. Do you get me? It’s… I feel better knowing that other people won’t have to worry about me.”

 

 

And here were the words Tony had both dreaded and suspected were the kid’s overriding inner monologue. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting this, but it made his heart ache to hear how much of himself Peter was willing to sacrifice for the peace of mind of the people around him.

 

 

It reminded Tony jarringly of himself.

 

 

Tony frowned, taking Peter’s cheek in his hand. They’d become ridiculously tactile with each other over the past few days; Tony wasn’t really a clingy guy himself, but he could see how much comfort Peter got from his touch.

 

 

The kid turned his face a little into Tony’s hand, looking worriedly up at him as if he’d done something wrong.

 

 

How was Tony gonna say this?

 

 

“Peter, if you don’t tell people about what’s going on, it’s only going to worry them more.” He sighed in frustration; he just wanted Peter to understand.

 

 

“Please tell me if you’re hurt, whether that’s physically or mentally. Tell me everything, if you want. Tell me if there are kids pushing you around at school. Tell me if one of the criminals was a bitch on patrol. Tell me if you’re feeling sad, or anxious, and you don’t know why. Tell me about the things you don’t want to tell anyone because you’re scared of bothering them. Tell me about that episode of Battlestar Galactica you watched last week. Tell me about what you’re going through, because it’s my pleasure to know. I wanna know about you, Peter.”

 

 

Peter’s chin was wobbling.

 

 

“Why do you care so much, Mr. Stark?” he breathed.

 

 

“Because you’re the best, kid. And-“

 

 

Fuck it.

 

 

Tony ignored the strange quality of his breathing.

 

 

“And- even if it doesn’t seem like I do… I- care about you. More than I wanna admit.”  


 

Tony could feel the edges of the void threatening to take him back, but this time he didn’t long for the cold embrace of nothing. He needed to be _here, now_.

 

 

And the faintly amused look on Peter’s face was too pressing to ignore.

 

 

“What’s funny, Peter?”

 

 

“Uh, nothing’s funny, I’m sorry-“

 

 

“You know that was me, right? I’m not kidding. Please try and take me seriously, kid, because you won’t get any more mushy stuff outta me for the time being.”

 

 

They both knew that wasn’t true.

 

 

Wait, did Peter know that?

 

 

“Okay. I-“

 

 

“If that was going to be an apology, I will not be happy, kid.” Tony waggled a finger at him.

 

 

What was he doing? Trying to lighten the tone?

 

 

Jesus. He’d actually been getting somewhere.

 

 

But Peter cut in, a strange look on his face. “No. I was going to say… that- uh- yeah, it does hurt.”

 

 

Tony wasn’t sure how to react.

 

 

“Oh. Oh. Okay.” In a rare moment of uncertainty, Tony took a step back from Peter’s bed, moved closer to the kid again, then turned abruptly away before facing him again. “I’ll get someone in to try and fix it then. That’s- that’s great, kid. Thanks.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A few days in the hospital and Peter’s condition had improved so much they were willing to let him go within the next week or so after Tony made Helen Cho write them a note vaguely mentioning his “extenuating circumstances” which allowed him to heal so fast.

 

 

But every time the doctor peeled back the kid’s bandages, Peter’d just grab Tony’s hand and look away.

 

 

He had to know that someday, he’d have to look at his arm. What Tony was most frightened of was that he didn’t want to see it because he thought it made him ugly.

 

 

They hadn’t talked about it yet. May told him that it would most likely just take some time, that it reminded him of a bad experience; that was all.

 

 

Tony’d already contacted a good six or so therapists in the area who were professionals in superhuman activity. Just in case.

 

 

God, he just wanted Peter to be alright. He just wanted everyone to be okay.

 

 

That day, Ned came to visit the kid. When Peter had asked if his friend could come over, Tony had firmly agreed, recalling how concerned he’d been about everything Peter was getting up to.

 

 

When that kid walked into Peter’s room, Tony watched both their faces light up simultaneously and couldn’t stop himself from smiling a little too.

 

 

This was the happiest he’d seen his kid in a while. A high-pitched squeal of “Ned!” escaped Peter’s throat, and he tried to sit up in bed a little too fast, prompting a “steady, kid” from Tony which he ignored as Ned came barrelling towards him.

 

 

The two combined in a tangle of awkwardly adolescent limbs, Ned careful not to hurt the kid, Peter clinging onto the other teen as if his life depended on it. When they finally pulled away, they proceeded to perform a handshake so long Tony swore he could have got in his suit, flown back to his place, grabbed some stuff and returned without either of them noticing.

 

 

Honestly, Tony was impressed.

 

 

And already concocting several quips he knew he’d never use on the kid because he didn’t have the heart to push him around like that anymore.

 

 

The sight of Peter, wincing a little but lit up from the inside out, strands of hair flying into a face which had regained just a little of its former colour, not caring about the void where his arm had been, was enough to put Tony in a good mood for the rest of the day.

 

 

Bringing Ned in had been a good call.

 

 

Clearly, the kid had been itching for a good geek-out with his buddy; within seconds they were chatting about the night of homecoming and Ned’s role as the “guy in the chair”- or at least, Tony thought they were talking- it was hard to tell at the speed they were going.

 

 

“Thanks for helping out, by the way. Maybe the guy in the chair will become a regular thing?”

 

 

“Seriously?”

 

 

“Yeah, we’re a good team, right?”

 

 

“Totally! Dude, have you seen the hype about Spider-Man recently? You’re all over social media and stuff. Look, they’ve even started to release merch!”

 

 

“Holy sh-“ Peter had the decency then to glance towards May, who shrugged, too happy to care.

 

 

“-Shit man! That’s crazy! I’ve really got my own merch?”

 

 

“Yeah, I’ll send you the link…”

 

 

They occupied themselves as such for a good hour or two, Ned sat by Peter’s bedside, the both of them dutifully ignoring the copious tubes snaking from Peter’s nose and arm, as well as his missing arm. Tony noticed Ned took the chair to Peter’s left.

 

 

The kid had some great friends. But as happy as it made Peter, as Tony popped in a while later to check on him and Ned and noticed Peter’s heavy-lidded eyes and paler complexion and discreetly ushered Ned out.

 

 

“Sorry, kids, but it’s just about naptime for the Spiderling here.”

 

 

“But I’m fine, Mr. Stark!” Peter rose a little from his pillows, righting himself so as to seem more awake and blinking several times.

 

 

But Ned interjected, assessing Peter’s face and rising from his chair. “Don’t worry, Peter, we can always video chat later on or something, right?”

 

 

“Yeah, but…” Peter’s eyes aimed imploringly up at Tony.

 

 

“Nuh uh, kid. Don’t even try those puppy eyes on me. I have strict instructions to keep you well rested.”

 

 

The kid huffed a little chuckle as he ducked his head, but it sounded defeated. He almost seemed to deflate a little.

 

 

“Bye!” Ned waved cheerily as he crossed to the door backwards in order to see as much of Peter as possible.

 

 

In response, Peter waved back, stirring his array of tubes as he did so, and flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

 

A moment of silence followed Ned’s exit.

 

 

Surprisingly, Peter spoke first, turning sharply to look up at Tony: “Why’d you do that, Mr. Stark?”

 

 

Tony had to get the kid to stop calling him that: an involuntary flinch went through him at every mention of the name, a jolt of unnecessary adrenaline left from the night he spent in the rubble.

 

 

 “Kid, you gotta rest. You don’t look so good right now. Ned could see that. I mean, it’s great you have such a good friend in that guy, but you have to keep getting better too, alright?”

 

 

Peter growled a little, an attempt at frustration that was far cuter than it was threatening.

 

 

Tony became more and more sure every day that Peter was really an anthropomorphized puppy in disguise.

 

 

“I just- I just wanna see my friend, what’s wrong with that?”

 

 

Tony hummed. He hadn’t missed the number of times the kid’s gaze glanced restlessly across the room as he spoke. “What’s really on your mind, Pete?”

 

 

Peter’s brow was furrowed as he turned on his side to look Tony in the eye.

 

 

It took him a while to phrase his thought verbally. Tony waited, only glad he was getting to find out how the kid was really feeling for once.

 

 

“Ned’s- he’s kind of the only guy who will pretend like everything’s… still okay. We just hung out like we always did and- and I could forget… everything that happened. And stuff. And now he’s gone, and there- now there’s nothing to distract me from… this.” He gently shrugged his right shoulder, still partially hidden under layers of bandage.

 

 

Tony would say his handling of emotional situations had improved remarkably since all this shit went down, but he was still at a loss for comfort in this particular situation.

 

 

“Oh, kid.” Tony went to ruffle Peter’s hair, but the kid pulled back, looking up at him with restrained tears which fought for dominion over his eyes.

 

 

“No,” he mumbled.

 

 

Tony’s eyebrows drew together. “What?”

 

 

“You doing that… just makes me think about- it.” The last word was short, thick in his throat.

 

 

At that, Tony dropped into the chair beside the kid, taking his hand. “Kid, I don’t really know what’s okay with you and what’s not. You wanna lay it out? Because I want to help you feel better. That okay?”

 

 

Peter laughed then. Short; soft; self-deprecatory.

 

 

“I don’t understand, Mr. Stark.”

 

 

In involuntary intake of breath from Tony drew Peter’s gaze towards the man, who froze for a split second.

 

 

“Okay, so if we’re figuring out what is best for both of us, could you call me Tony?”

 

 

Something shifted in Peter’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, okay. Sure, I guess. Sorry-”

 

 

He immediately halted as he realized what he’d done again.

 

 

Laughing in exasperation, Tony said, “I swear to God, Underoos, you’re gonna put me in an early grave. You don’t need to apologize, okay?”

 

 

“Guess it’s an old habit.” Peter grinned lopsidedly.

 

 

“But seriously, what do you mean, you don’t understand?”

 

 

Peter sighed; it sounded like it had come from someone far older than him.

 

 

He avoided Tony’s gaze. “I don’t get why you- care so much. About me.”

 

 

This was going to be hard.

 

 

Okay: screw his comfort zone.

 

 

Tony gripped Peter’s hand a little tighter as he spoke.

 

 

_Well… I like you because- you’re kind, and selfless, and honest, and cute, and smart as hell, and willing to sacrifice your life to use your powers responsibly instead of screwing around like I would’ve if I’d been your age, and I can see so clearly how much you love everyone around you and would give up anything for them, and the little smile you give when you get complimented lights up something in my heart that’s been sitting unused for too long, and I love it when you stammer and geek out over stuff because it means you’re getting to be yourself in that moment: not Spider-Man, not an Avenger, just Peter Parker who’s 15 and loves Star Wars and hanging out with his friends, and you’re comfortable and happy for once, and the only thing I hate about you is how damn loveable you are:  it scares me because I know I’m gonna fuck up your life._

 

 

Of course, he didn’t really say that.

 

 

That’s what he thought as he said, “…”

 

 

Feeling the void pressing at the edges of his eyes and not wanting Peter to see when it took over yet again, he burst out of his seat and headed for the door.

 

 

Peter’s response sounded almost primal, a shout of desperation: “Don’t leave me!”

 

 

_Oh._

_Shit._

Tony’s mind sped back to recount Peter’s garbled words when Tony had found him: _“Gonna die alone…”_

The kid was probably scared shitless of being left alone again, especially as he couldn’t get up and pursue Tony yet.

Noting the crack in Peter’s voice, Tony forced himself back around and had to run back to the kid’s bedside: within the split second he’d gotten up, Peter’s breathing pattern had crashed and burned, leaving him reaching shakily towards Tony and gulping for air like a drowning man.

 

 

Immediately, Tony felt awful.

 

 

He’d done that.

 

 

So it was his responsibility to sit by the kid again, to apologize himself, to wrap an arm around his shoulders and tangle another in his hair, to breathe with him until he regained some semblance of calm.

 

 

And yes, it was taking a lot out of Tony to be there 24/7 for the kid, but he’d stay for another month in a heartbeat if it made Peter feel any better.

 

 

So when May, who’d been watching him like a hawk since she came home from another of her night shifts to find him passed out with his head in Peter’s lap as the kid gently played with his hair, took him out into the corridor to get him to take a break, he wouldn’t have any of it.

 

 

“Tony,” she pleaded, voice lowered, “You don’t have to do this.  Go home, get some rest, look after yourself for a bit. I’m grateful that you’ve looked after Peter so well, but you need to take care of yourself too.”

 

 

“I’m sorry, May, but I can’t. He- needs to have someone with him. When I found him under the rubble, he was so scared of _being alone,_ and I know you just can’t be with him all the time because of your shift work and that’s not your fault but he needs someone there. There’s no way in hell I’m going to just up and leave when he’s still so scared.”

 

 

Tony scrubbed a hand down his face, brushing against his now-overgrown goatee.

 

 

He wouldn’t deny that he was tired. The kid needed him most during the nights; Tony had found himself sitting up for hours, trying to get him to sleep by telling him made-up stories, distracting him from the memories.

 

 

He probably stank. He didn’t really care. He’d been without a shower, or without any sleep at all, for longer than this.

 

 

It was Peter who needed looking after.

 

 

“Seriously, Tony, don’t do this. I get that you feel responsible, that you want to help, but you won’t be able to help in a little while if you carry on like this-“

 

 

“Trust me, I’ve been through worse. The kid needs someone to be with him- let me do this-“

 

 

But May was looking over his shoulder and stopped him with a finger to her lips.

 

 

Tony stilled in the middle of his tirade, turning slowly over his shoulder.

 

 

Through the small square window looking into Peter’s room in the hospital, Tony watched the kid swing his legs with surprising energy over the side of the bed, grip the mattress on either side of him, and rise gingerly on unsteady legs.

 

 

The sight of his bare toes curling into the floor as they took his weight and the slightly nauseous yet determined set of his face set off something in Tony which sent him straight to the door of the room, May hot on his heels.

 

 

By the time the two were in the room, Peter had made it to an adjacent wall and was leaning heavily against it, looking lost.

 

 

He jumped in surprise when they entered, almost toppling over, but May caught his elbow.

 

 

“Come on, Peter,” she urged softly. “You can do this.”

 

 

The kid seemed a little embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable moment, but he obediently took a lilting step forward, leaning heavily into May and gazing intently at his feet as if willing them to move.

 

 

Tony, who was still standing by the door, opened his arms for the kid: “Come to me, kid.”

 

 

It was only after the damage had been done that Tony realized what he’d just done.

 

 

_He’d held out his arms for Peter to walk into like he was a baby taking his first steps._

 

 

What the hell was _happening?_

 

 

He realized this was a moment both him and May had missed: seeing their kid take his first steps.

 

 

_What the fuck? Peter wasn’t his kid. He had to stop thinking like that, because then he’d only perpetuate the cycle of violence that Howard had kick-started, that he promised himself he wouldn’t become a part of, and he’d fail this kid, screw him up for life and leave him just like himself, and no-one deserved that less than Peter Parker._

 

 

But it didn’t stop the sudden rushing sensation at the top of his stomach that wasn’t at all unpleasant.

 

 

May slowly relinquished her hold on Peter’s arms, a strange smile on her face, and Peter stumbled towards Tony’s open arms, looking up now to meet Tony’s gaze with wide eyes and a sliver of tongue peeping from between his teeth as he concentrated.

 

 

“Yeah, that’s it, Peter.” Tony beckoned a little, but Peter had tripped, and Tony took a step forward to catch him before he could fall.

 

 

Twisted awkwardly in Tony’s arms, Peter struggled to adjust himself, not able to pull himself up with only one arm, stuttering a little between fast breaths.

 

 

But Tony could only smile down at the kid, hating and loving the feel of the small limbs contained within his hands.

 

 

“Hey, you did it!” cheered May, blinking hard.

 

 

A small smile crept across Peter’s pale face; he glanced up at Tony as if for some sort of confirmation.

 

 

“Well done, buddy.” Tony felt warmer than he had in a long time.

 

 

Slowly, he guided Peter back to his bed, whereupon the kid promptly passed out with his face smashed into the pillow, snuffling lightly in his sleep.

 

 

Tony put a hand on May’s shoulder; they shared a silent moment together of joy, of relief, and of hope.

 

 

And then of course Tony escaped to the bathroom, where he rinsed his face roughly under the tap, dried it with a paper towel, and repeated the action until his face was swollen and red.

 

 

What the hell was he supposed to do? He’d gone way too far already and now the kid _needed_ him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Peter’s muscle cramps cleared up after a couple days, thank God.

 

 

They got him off dialysis, IV, and oxygen and calcium support the day after.

 

 

Every day, the kid was walking further and looking less like crap; one day he asked Tony, red-faced, if he could help him get into some normal clothes, and they managed to work past the awkward moments where Peter ended up standing in front of Tony wearing only his boxers, or when he got stuck inside his shirt and got a little flustered trying to untangle himself with one arm.

 

 

A doctor came in to give his final check-up on the kid just as May returned from work.

 

 

“May I say, Mr. Parker, that you have healed remarkably well. I’m going to have to give you the all-clear.”

 

 

Peter bounced a little from where he sat up in his bed, a smile creeping across his face.

 

 

“So I can go home?” he asked.

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

It took a while to gather up all the belongings accumulated by the three during their stay at the hospital, but eventually, they were ready, Tony pushing a wheelchair they’d been given by the hospital for if the kid got too tired, despite his protests of “I’m fine! I won’t need it!”

 

 

As they crossed the threshold of the hospital, Tony felt this little wave of sadness wash over him.

 

 

Of course, he regretted it immediately- he’d never wish for Peter to go through anything like this ever again- but he’d liked having nothing to stop him from spending time with the kid. It had been as uncomplicated as their relationship would ever be.

 

 

_It should never have come to this. There shouldn’t have been any relationship._

 

 

But just for once, as him, May and Peter emerged out into the blinding daylight and havoc of New York, he ignored the thoughts that threatened him back into the void where he knew he couldn’t hurt anyone, and decided to just live with what was going on now.

 

 

It was a good decision to have made then and not ten seconds later.

 

 

Twisting his neck around to check Peter, who had lagged behind a little, was still keeping pace, Tony watched in horror as the kid collapsed, without a word, without warning, onto the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those who have stayed with this fic, thank you my faithful babes! Now school and stuff has started, it's harder to fit in writing, but I will continue to work on this fic because I'm loving the positive response it's got!  
> Oh and sorry for the cliffhanger, Chapter 4 will pick up somewhere else to begin with but all will be explained eventually! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

_“Boss, Peter Parker has entered the building.”_

 

 

Tony’s hands stilled in the air where they had been adapting a new piece of tech as he was pulled back to reality by FRIDAY’s voice.

 

 

He wondered what colour the kid would prefer.

 

 

Many hours of his time had been devoted to this particular design; without the kid’s own input, it was hard to tell what he should do. Obviously, Tony used the softest, most comfortable and non-threatening materials he could put to use on a project like this; he’d never give Peter something that caused him pain.

 

 

Was the red too much like Iron Man?

 

 

“Let him in, FRI.” Tony swiftly shut down the design hologram to keep his designs safe from teenage eyes- for now.

 

 

Over the past few weeks, since Peter had left the hospital and resumed his ordinary life, he’d started visiting the Avengers compound over the weekend. Now, it was a semi-regular thing, with Happy giving the kid a lift from his apartment upstate.

 

 

Sometimes, they’d spend hours tinkering in Tony’s workshop (it had slowly been taken over by Peter’s clutter: notes on web fluid, old salvaged parts from dumpsters, even a couple of discarded shirts and socks had begun to fill the room); on days when one of them was feeling less good, they’d steal some ice cream from the fridge and watch a movie together.

 

 

Tony wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but it was one of the best parts of his week.

 

 

The comfort he derived from the feeling of Peter’s hair in between his fingers and the smaller body leaned against him was such that Tony felt a little hollow when the kid wasn’t there.

 

 

Over that time, Tony learned how to tell by the amount of tension in the kid’s body whether he was feeling unhappy. He didn’t need to touch Peter today, however, to know how he was feeling.

 

 

It was crazy: the kid reflected his emotions in his physicality like a fucking mountain spring.

 

 

So when he walked (read: shuffled) into Tony’s room, his head was ducked low, dirty sneakers dragging on the floor as he went to drop his backpack on the floor, hand threading slowly through the hair at the nape of his neck as if he was trying to comfort himself with the touch.

 

 

“Hey, bud,” said Tony. He decided “I wasn’t aware there was a funeral on” was a little too on the nose for this particular orphaned teen, so he settled for, “I didn’t know they’d cancelled the next Star Wars movie.”

 

 

He’d assumed it was just a mood swing- even superpowered teens could get them, and Tony had first-hand experience- but when Peter finally raised his head and looked at Tony through vacant, red-rimmed eyes, he was suddenly made all too aware that something _more_ was up.

 

 

“Hey- what’s up, Pete? What is it?”

 

 

Peter just stared blankly at Tony’s chest, frozen in place.

 

 

Giving up, Tony crossed the distance between him and the kid to give him a hug, something he knew would comfort him whatever the hell was going on-

 

 

And jumped when Peter flinched in his grip.

 

 

“Shit, sorry,” the kid said, curling in on himself a little and plucking at the hem of his shirtsleeve with shaking fingers, keeping it pulled down.

 

 

Tony hadn’t seen the kid this nervous around him since the first time they met. He’d never acted like this before, and that freaked Tony out.

 

 

Wait, keeping it pulled down?

 

 

Gently, he took Peter’s hand and pulled up his sleeve, revealing a fast-disappearing ring of bruises around his wrist.

 

 

Peter stilled in his grip, glancing at him through dark lashes with a look of guilt in his eyes.

 

 

“Talk to me, bud. You didn’t get this on patrol, did you?”

 

 

But the kid shrugged gently out of his hold and sloped over to the little grey couch in the corner of the room, tucking his legs under him when he got there.

 

 

Tony couldn’t understand, not yet, so he followed Peter to the couch and sat facing him. Peter was looking anywhere but at him.

 

 

He didn’t want to push anything, so he just waited for the kid to spill.

 

 

Thankfully, he did speak, although it took him a while to get the words together.

 

 

“Uh, no. They’re not from patrol. And they’re- they’re not all.”

 

 

“Not all? Don’t tell me you got hurt. Are you alright?” Tony edged forward towards the kid, concern clear in the furrow of his brow.

 

 

But Peter only crushed himself more against the armrest as Tony moved closer, prompting the older man to stop.

 

 

It was crushing to see the kid who had hung onto you at every opportunity for weeks suddenly back away from you as if you were the enemy.

 

 

But there was no hatred in the way Peter dragged his legs up against him like a shield- or a prison- or the way he worried at his lower lip with his teeth. Just fear, and shame, and brokenness.

 

 

Slowly, Peter managed to mumble out: “It’ll heal, it’s-‘s all good.”

 

 

Tony knew that Peter knew it was _not “all good”,_ but he’d accept that for now. He wanted to hear what the hell had been done with his kid, and then he’d cart him off to the medbay for _extensive_ check-ups.

 

 

A long, pregnant pause, and then Peter finally spoke, absent-mindedly drawing patterns into the tops of his drawn-up knees as he explained.

 

 

“So you know when you told me to tell you… everything? Everything I’m getting up to… everything people do to me?”

 

 

Tony nodded wordlessly, trying not to stare too much at the kid.

 

 

“So, uh- yeah, people did do things. To me. Um…”

 

 

At this, Peter pressed his head to his knees in frustration. Instinctively, Tony put a gentle hand on the kid’s hair, brushing it away from his face, and this time Peter had the presence of mind to accept the touch, sighing gently as he leaned into it.

 

 

“Don’t worry, Peter. You’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

 

Blowing out a breath, Peter righted himself a little and chose to look at a spot on the wall when he continued. “It’s nothing- it shouldn’t bother me because I’m Spider-Man and I deal with worse stuff every day- but, I don’t know, it does.”

 

 

“What does?” Tony tried and failed to sound nonchalant.

 

 

“Just- a bunch of jerks pushing me around and stuff.”

 

 

Peter almost hadn’t admitted this to Tony. He’d… given it a few weeks, just to see if they’d get bored of him eventually, but it just got worse when they realized he wouldn’t- or couldn’t- fight back.

 

 

Sometimes he didn’t know which it was- wouldn’t, or couldn’t. Because when Flash and his gang (Peter knew their names but couldn’t always make out who was there at each “session”, because the world somehow lost all colour and form when it happened) had him pinned by his only arm against a wall and aimed countless blows, kicks and punches and tweaks to his face and ribs and stomach, and one of them hissed things into his ear like “You fucking freak, look at him, you helpless little retard- I knew you were a loser anyway, but this is just pathetic! Look at that, he’s crying now- you little crybaby - window-licker - fucktard - special - wimp – freak-“ …

 

 

That’s when he lost all control, when he didn’t think he could have held them off even if he tried, when he gave up and let the blows land, let the words trickle into his ears like bittersweet poison, let himself give over to panicked sobs and groans as they gripped his wrist so tightly it left a ring of bruising and targeted his face and gut again and again and again.

 

 

Once, a stray punch had hit his groin, forcing a strange-sounding cry from his throat, and this had only fuelled their passion: now they were targeting him every spare minute of his day with nudges and whispers of “What a fag,” “Pretty boy,” “look at the little _fairy_ ,” “We all know why you say you hang out with Tony Stark, cock-sucker,” “How're things going with the _apprenticeship?_ Gotten laid by “Mr. Stark” yet?”

 

 

Of course, they always did it when he was alone, whether in a crowd without Ned or MJ or in an empty corner of the playing field or something. Which was surprisingly often.

 

 

At this point, Peter would even hang out with Tony, the man who brought back everything Flash had said to him that day at school, instead of being alone.

 

 

Peter hadn’t realized the world had gone blank again until the guy in question’s voice broke through his thoughts.

 

 

“Pushing you around how?”

 

 

Peter couldn’t miss the note of rage in Tony’s voice and started to regret saying anything- if he just kept going blank while it all happened at school and didn’t talk about it, he could sort of pretend it didn’t happen at all- but he did talk to Tony anyway, because something at the side of his mind told him that the eyes levelling him were those of someone who might actually be able to help- _and want to._

 

 

He didn’t want to tell May. At least if Tony decided to never see him again after hearing this, he’d still have a home.

 

 

Because- because maybe he wasn’t so sure anymore that those words they kept saying about him weren’t _true._

 

 

All the words that had been evading his grasp were in reach now, suddenly, and he rushed to get them all out so the horror would end faster, omitting only the stuff about Mr. Stark himself.

 

 

He watched in apprehension as he finished, wondering why he had to give such a detailed description of all the words he got called, as Tony’s body filled with a surge of tension that he seemed not to notice.

 

 

“Tell me their names again,” Tony said, in a scarily level voice. His face was so blank it matched the void Peter was in, a similarity that both scared and comforted him.

 

 

He hesitated. “What’re you gonna do?”

 

 

“What do you think? I’m gonna make sure they stay the hell away from your life, preferably out of the state, and then I’m gonna make sure they never get a decent job, and I’m gonna make them regret what they did for the rest of their stupid little lives.”

 

 

Tony felt anger coursing through him like a livewire, and almost welcomed the surge of adrenaline: he’d spent too long in the void, and he reckoned this was a _pretty_ _fucking good reason to haul ass out of it._

 

 

He’d been paranoid about another bad thing happening to Peter ever since he’d heard the first shout from help amid the rubble. It had only been heightened when the kid went and collapsed on him on the way out of the hospital.

 

 

_Tony dropped everything and went running towards the crumpled form in the sidewalk, yelling for the kid: “Peter? Peter? Godammit, Peter-“_

_It looked so wrong, to see the kid’s hair fanned out not on a clean pillow but on the pavement. He’d fallen on his arm and not his head, thank God, and as Tony reached his side he was already beginning to wake again._

_Without thinking, Tony had a hand in Peter’s and another gently supporting his head as he spoke quietly, softly to the kid: “Hey, Peter, you alright? Can you see me? Does anything hurt?”_

_When Tony’s fingers touched the side of Peter’s face, it was cold and clammy to the touch, and he was reminded all too much of the night under the rubble. The kid was panting too, breaths too fast, but Tony could tell it wasn’t panic that was causing it because Peter’s eyes were open and glazed, vacant._

_“Huh- Tony- my heart’s beating really fast.”_

_Peter shook a little in his grip, voice faint._

_Sure enough, his pulse raced and throbbed; Tony could see it in the veins on his neck and wrist._

_By this point, however, May was there at Peter’s side too, and she talked over the kid to Tony: “Don’t happen to have any sugar on you?”_

_Tony shook his head, scoffing a little - what kind of a question was that? - but May continued: “possibly hypoglycemia. He needs sugar, now.”_

_She was impressive._

_“You wanna stay with him and I’ll get a doctor?” she murmured, already getting up. Mercifully, they’d barely set foot outside the hospital, so this time help would come much faster._

_Tony nodded vaguely and turned back to the incoherent kid._

_“Okay, Pete, you feel like moving? Just to sit up?”_

_“I’m- wait, I’m on the floor?” It was whispered breathlessly._

_A distant voice called, “Do you need any help over there?” and Tony replied with “No thanks, we got this covered.”_

_It didn’t feel like it to Tony, who had no idea what to do anymore._

_Peter wasn’t getting up any time soon. Tony sat by the quivering kid for a minute or two, and then he released a breath he’d been holding for too long when a team with a stretcher arrived, flanked by a determined-looking May._

_Hypoglycemia. When they’d fed him a crap ton of chocolate and got him onto the stretcher, they checked him out again and confirmed he didn’t have it. It was just his metabolism working too fast, his low blood pressure, and he hadn’t eaten enough sugar._

_Peter was embarrassed. He felt like a stupid little kid: they’d have to monitor his sugar levels and everything from now on to make sure his metabolism didn’t eat him alive. He’d freaked out May and Tony, again, and all because he’d forgotten to eat for a bit._

_Okay, he’d skipped breakfast._

_He’d gotten by on not really caring, and now he had to pay. Now May and Tony would be watching him even more intently than before._

_To tell the truth, he wasn’t all that unhappy about staying in the hospital for a little longer. He was dreading going back to school._

_He was right to dread._

_He was right, because maybe he’d been feeling alright about himself as they gave him the all-clear, again, and the three of them packed up their things to leave, this time for real, and he remembered how much he’d gotten through._

_But he guessed pride came before a fall or whatever, because now…_

_He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he hated himself. Even hated that he wasn’t brave enough to try and end it all._

_Spider-Man wasn’t much of an option anymore; now May was aware of his alter ego, he wasn’t sure if she’d let him go web-slinging. Besides, he didn’t really know how, now he only had one arm to support him, and his suits didn’t fit anymore._

_At first, he thought Tony’d make a new one for him or something. Even if he couldn’t use it, it would have been nice of him._

_But why would a guy like Tony Stark bother anymore with him?_

_Why did anyone?_

_It annoyed him sometimes, that people pretended to care so much, which was a problem because he didn’t have any way to vent that annoyance. Normally he’d burn it off on patrol, but… that wasn’t really an option anymore._

_He didn’t know what to do._

_He didn’t know what to do._

“Tony, you can’t just ruin their lives for them!”

 

 

“Why not?” It was spoken without an ounce of humour.

 

 

Peter sighed flatly. “It’s- fine, they’ll get tired eventually, it’s not worth it. You have more important things to do, Mr. Stark.”

 

 

 _Oh, I see, it’s_ Mr. Stark _now._

“Not worth it? Peter, I wanna help you. I will _always_ have time for this, you hear me? And it’s not okay that those guys are doing that. It’s so not okay.”

 

 

Tony tried to move forward again, but Peter shook his head, a look of terror in his eyes.

 

 

 _Okay, there must be something else up. Like, something_ else _else._

 

 

“Kid,” he said, “That’s not all, is it? What did those bastards call you?”

 

 

He saw the guarded, anxious spark in Peter’s eyes die as he dropped his head onto his knees.

 

 

He was mumbling, and Tony didn’t make out a word of what he said.

 

 

“What was that, Pete?”

 

 

Peter lifted his head, revealing awkwardly shifting eyes and flushed cheeks. “They- uh, they think the internship… isn’t just an internship.”

 

 

“Well, it’s not, is it?”

 

 

“No!” Peter blurted, before halting and beginning to stammer. “It’s- no, they didn’t mean… like that. They meant… that you, um, that you were- that- it wasn’t just- I-I was, uh…”

 

 

The brief snatch of eye contact from the kid as his eyes darted about the room suddenly made him understand.

 

 

_Oh._

_Oh, fuck those kids to hell and back._

 

 

It sure explained why the kid had cringed away from his contact like that.

 

 

“Oh, Pete…” breathed Tony.

 

 

His words forced a little, sob-like noise from Peter’s throat, and then the kid was up, vaulting over the back of the sofa with an agility that shouldn’t have been surprising to Tony and backing away to the edge of the room.

 

 

“Don’t be like that, Tony,” he gasped, back against the wall, looking as if he was trying to melt into it.

 

 

Tony didn’t know what the fuck was going on. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, twisting around to better see the kid behind him. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t be like what?”

 

 

“When you use that voice, it sounds like you- like you _care,_ and I know it’s not true but when you say it like that… it’s confusing because it almost sounds like you do.” The kid seemed completely earnest, shaking his head as if to physically shake his thoughts away.

 

 

Tony couldn’t help but lose it a little. “Peter! Why would you think I- I don’t care, when I literally _told you_ I did? Remember that? It was the third day after surgery, I remember it clear as day. I told you that I- really cared about you. That was hard for me. Please don’t ignore it, Pete.”

 

 

“But- they all said that no-one cared…”

 

 

It was whispered, but carried the weight of a yell through a megaphone.

 

 

“Peter. Kid. Look at me, and listen. If you’re so bothered by all this, it must not be true, right? You know that our relationship isn’t like that. It’s-“

 

 

_Father and son._

_No, shut the fuck up, brain._

“-Um-“

_What was it then?_

“- different, and you know that. So it doesn’t need to bother you like that. Those dicks were just trying to rub you up the wrong way, and it doesn’t make you a weak person that it _has_ got to you, it just makes you human, okay?”

 

 

Peter just shook his head.

 

 

Tony wanted to yell, to cry. His kid-

 

 

_STOP._

 

 

- _his kid_ was getting hurt by people, a concept he could barely understand when he looked at Peter and saw the light of the goddamn sun in his eyes, shining through a haze of tears.

 

 

Why didn’t people love him? How couldn’t you?

 

 

And his kid-

 

 

_No-_

-his kid was hurting, again, and again he couldn’t do anything.

 

 

There was something in the way Peter carried himself now which Tony should have picked up on when all this shit first started happening, something that made it clear how much he believed the lies that had been drilled into him by those dicks.

 

 

God, Tony hadn’t even realized how much he wanted to hug the kid, how much he _needed_ it.

 

 

And he would. He’d get to hug his kid again, but first, he had to fix this. He could do that; he was good at fixing stuff.

 

 

Right?

 

 

“Peter. Please don’t believe anything those- those fucking _freaks_ have said to you-“

 

 

But evidently this was the wrong thing to have said; at his words, Peter took in a gasp of air and sank to the floor where he was pressed against the wall, gripping his t-shirt hem aggressively and beginning to lose control of his breathing.

 

 

“No, no, no- kid? I’m sorry. Can I come over?”

 

 

There was no answer from Peter, who was rocking gently back and forth on the floor, looking so _damn vulnerable_ all alone there that Tony went over to him and tried to enfold him in his arms without stopping to consider what he was doing.

 

 

Super strength really was a bitch when you put it in this sort of situation.

 

 

Peter felt an arm wrapping around his torso, and, feeling a rage he’d never felt around Flash and his friends before bubbling up in him, wrenched himself from the grip with a growl and ran a few steps away before his vision cleared, he took in the workshop he was in and…

 

 

_Oh, shit._

 

 

Whipping around, he saw Tony clutching his arm behind him, looking wounded.

 

 

Why didn’t Tony get it? Everyone who got close to him got hurt, or killed. He didn’t wish that on anyone, but Tony had gotten too close, and look, now he’d got hurt.

 

 

_Spider-sense going insane…_

_Crap, panic attack._

Tony hung back, lost in his void, as Peter, breathing roughly, stumbled past him and into the spare room that had become sort-of-his over the past few weeks, slamming and locking the door behind him.

 

 

The abrupt sound of the door slamming sort of brought Tony back to his senses, and he breathed in sharply, trying to process what just happened.

 

 

“Peter…” he called, heading straight for the closed door through which the kid had just fled.

 

 

“Peter.”

 

 

He knew it would be pointless- somehow- but what else could he do?

 

 

So he sat down with his ear to Peter's door and listened torturously to every gasp, every sob, every murmured word of self-hatred, and sung.

 

 

It felt weird at first, but just _right._

 

 

_Oh I wish I had a river so long_

_I would teach my feet to fly_

_Oh I wish I had a river_

_I made my baby cry_

_He tried hard to help me_

_He put me at ease_

_Lord, he loved me so naughty_

_Made me weak in the knees_

_I wish I had a river I could skate away on_

_I'm so hard to handle_

_I'm selfish and I'm sad_

_Now I've gone and lost the best baby_

_That I ever had_

_I wish I had a river_

_I could skate away on..._

_Oh I wish I had a river so long_

_I would teach my feet to fly_

_Oh I wish I had a river_

_I could skate away on_

_I made my baby say goodbye..._

 

He didn’t really know where the lyrics had come from, but they just seemed _right._

 

 

So there was Peter, huddled messily on the floor of a bedroom he was sure shouldn’t be his, drowning in thin air, far, far away from his void of blankness; and Tony, singing gently against the wood of the door, warding his own void off with a soft, husky voice which told him what he already knew:  _“I made my baby cry.”_

There was nowhere for Peter to go from here, and nowhere Tony wanted to go except here with _his kid_.

 

 

And when Tony noticed the sounds of anguish from the other side of the door quietening, he spoke: “Peter, none of this is your fault. It really isn’t. I forgive you, and I’ll- always care about you, alright? I didn’t want to tell you about this until it was finished, but… I’ve got a surprise for you. Or rather, three surprises. Yeah, they’re pretty big. Please talk to me when you feel like it. But- if you don’t, I’ll call you when the surprise is ready.”

 

 

Hearing no sounds of acknowledgment or otherwise, Tony rose. “Is it alright if I go now? Would you like that?”

 

 

Peter’s voice sounded like it hadn’t been used in months. “Yes please.”

 

 

“I’ll be up in my room if you need me.”

 

 

It was only when Tony was back in his own room and he’d called an old frenemy to make a desperate deal and set back down the phone that the force of what had just gone down really hit him.

 

 

Like tidal waves, the tension rolled off of him, barring his breath’s entry into his system.

 

 

He imagined his face would look pretty impassive right now, but he didn’t feel impassive.

 

 

That was another thing he was good at. Covering stuff up. But he didn’t need to just then.

 

 

So he let go of an invisible something he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding and let the waves take him in their roiling, gasping embrace.

 

 

He’d fix it. Right. Right?

 

 

He had no fucking idea if he’d fix his kid.

 

 

Everyone who got close to him got hurt, or killed. He didn’t wish that on anyone, but Peter had gotten too close, and look, now he’d got hurt.

 

 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty kids, yay more angst and depression! Honestly I am sorry, all will be redeemed in the last chapter I promise you all!  
> The song Tony sings at the end is "River" by Robert Downey Jr, it just applied to the situation well and it's a beautiful song. Go check it out!  
> Sorry for the slow posting, I am really busy right now but the last chapter will be out ideally by Saturday the 6th or earlier.  
> Bless you all for the lovely response I've been getting on this fic, you guys make me smile every day! Keep being lovely and positive and helpful my babes :D


	6. Chapter 6

_"Uh, hey, kid. Remember that surprise I told you about, back when… yeah. Well, it’s ready now. I say “it”, but there’s- actually three things now, so… Happy’ll pick you up at the school gates. Just- come, please. I’m not gonna make you talk, but I think you’ll like what I’ve got. Try not to piss Happy off. Love you, Pete.”_

 

 

When Peter heard the message, he was in the bathroom, nursing a bloody nose and leaning against the wall so he wouldn’t pass out from the dizziness.

 

 

One too many punches to the face had left him pretty banged-up-looking.

 

 

He didn’t mind. He didn’t mind anymore, because it happened so often it was kinda normal now. But Ned was obviously a little bothered by it.

 

 

“Peter Peter Peter,” he breathed, hands fluttering in the air around him. “Uh- can you see? I don’t ev- um- how bad is it? How long has this been going on for, Peter?”

 

 

But Peter didn’t have the energy or the presence of mind to reply right then, so he picked up his phone and, noticing a new voicemail, left the device to play the audio balanced on the edge of the blood-splattered sink.

 

 

“Peter!” Ned took him by the arms then, trying to get Peter to look him in the eye, a note of panic in his voice. “Listen to me, alright? I- do I need to call the nurse?”

 

 

Knowing he’d heal at some point, Peter shook his head loosely, lost in his void.

 

 

Need seemed at a loss. “What do you need me to do?”

 

 

“Nothing, I’m good, Ned. You go to class. It’ll heal, remember?” Vaguely, Peter waved a hand in the air, still leaning heavily on the wall and absent-mindedly listening to Tony’s voice, a sound which brought an unexpected heaviness to his throat.

 

 

But Ned wouldn't go away. A rare expression settling on his face, he dove into the nearest cubicle and emerged again with a fistful of toilet paper and a free hand reaching out slowly to Peter’s face.

 

 

Head ducked and back against the wall, Peter just let him stem the blood flow with a gentle hand, trying to ignore the shiver running up his spine, trying to ignore how good it felt to be touched.

 

 

“This isn’t the first time, is it? This can’t be the first time.” Ned cupped Peter's jaw in his free hand and he had to fight back the urge let his eyes close.

 

 

“It’s alright, it doesn’t happen that often.”

 

 

That was a blatant lie, and Ned knew it. He looked up into Peter's eyes, somehow managing to cross the distance between him and the rest of the world.

 

 

“You have told someone, right?” his voice was low, stern, like nothing Peter had heard come out of his mouth before.

 

 

He stuttered. “I-you know, I told Tony... You heard the voicemail, he's... weird like that. Maybe I should just go home instead.”

 

 

Peter's eye line had sunk to the floor again as he spoke; Ned took his jaw more firmly and tilted it upwards to meet his worried gaze.

 

 

"They're really getting to you, aren't they?" The other teenager sounded close to tears.

 

 

There was something about the tone of his voice, combined with the soft and hesitant touch to his throbbing face, which brought Peter back just a little.

 

 

"It's stupid," he whispered.

 

 

"No, it's not. Remember how excited you used to be to hang out with Tony? Remember when you always kept smiling, even when the bad stuff happened? When you always managed to pick yourself up, and I could help you with it? Because it feels like you've forgotten that. You can't just let people beat you up all the time. You don't deserve that."

 

 

All of a sudden, Peter couldn't deal with Ned's pity anymore.

 

 

He didn't know how he felt anymore. When he spent so much time half-in and half-out of the void, it was hard to tell. So he really wasn't sure why he leant forward and softly brought his lips to Ned's, feeling a sharp intake of breath grazing against his cheeks, and pulled away only to run out of the bathroom.

 

 

Later, Peter'd kick himself for treating Ned like that. But he could make it up to him.

 

 

He just needed time to fix all this.

 

 

As if Tony had read his thoughts, a vaguely inconspicuous-looking black sports car was already parked neatly outside the school gates, with not Happy but Tony himself at the wheel, window wound down and eyes trained on Peter.

 

 

It hadn't occurred to him until just then how bad he looked: the bleeding from his nose had ceased, but the network of bruises over his face and wrists attested to what had just been done to him.

 

 

For a little while, Peter just stood, wondering how Tony would react if he just ran away. But there was some small part of him, a dreg of childhood curiosity, which compelled him towards that car and his “three surprises”.

 

 

When he opened the passenger-side door, Peter found a stack of tubs taking up his seat.

 

 

“I brought you ice cream.”

 

 

Tony looked a little sheepish, an unfamiliar expression on him.

 

 

Peter felt a little laugh bubbling up from within him. He let it out, and it felt weird but good.

 

 

“I may be superhuman, but I don’t think even I could eat this much ice cream, Tony.” 

 

 

"Don't, then. I thought you could choose something."

 

 

Spotting the words “triple chocolate fudge", Peter piled all the other tubs into the backseat, Tony reversing out of the school gates.

 

 

"This is great, Tony. Thanks." Peter's voice was a little muffled with a mouthful of crap. 

 

 

Ice cream was an often-used "coping mechanism" of Tony's: a little too much sugar was alright compared to a couple too many pints, a couple too many tears or panic attacks.

 

 

"It's no problem. Peter-" Tony bit back a sigh, trying his damndest not to set the kid off- "I know you don't wanna talk about what's going on, but... We'll have to at some point. I will not sit by while this shit is going on. Have you told May?"

 

 

In an instant, the negative tension that had been emanating from Peter like an aura as he left the school was back. He stabbed the surface of his ice cream with his spoon, making little patterns.

 

 

"No."

 

 

Tony didn't remember the kid like this. It was like he'd just given up.

 

 

It made him wanna punch those kids' teeth in.

 

 

But instead, his voice took on that tone reserved for Peter as he replied: "Alright. What do you wanna do about it?"

 

 

The kid tipped his head back to lean listlessly on the headrest. "I - can we just leave it? They'll give up someday, realise I'm not interesting anymore or something."

 

 

Tony knew that. He'd been there. Peter didn't look like he'd given up- he had. He didn't care about what happened to him anymore.

 

 

How could he have let this get so bad?

 

 

Tony didn't want to take his eyes off the road, but he still attempted to fix Peter with a levelling stare.

 

 

"You know why I'm so mad at those kids?"

 

 

The shiner on the kid's face looked painful.

 

 

"Because they managed to really get to you. They saw how much this was hurting you, and they still didn't stop.

 

 

"So none of this is your fault. It's not your fault that they are picking on you - nothing you could ever do would deserve that. It's not your fault that it's getting to you - I know how strong you are, and nothing that's hurting you is your fault."

 

 

Peter was staring out of the window now; Tony saw dim reflections of tear tracks on his face on the glass.

 

 

"Please don't think it's your fault. Please don't try to bear it. Because I can see how much it's broken you, Pete. And I swear I will make any bastard who touches you pay for what they did. That's a promise."

 

 

Maybe Tony was getting better about this talking-about-your-feelings shit.

 

 

But the kid didn't seem comforted; the crying was audible now, high-pitched little sobs shaking his body as he curled up in his seat away from Tony.

 

 

Tony pulled sharply over onto the nearest empty street corner and turned in towards him, hands hovering over shoulders that were probably littered with goddamn bruises.

 

 

"Hey, can I touch you?" he murmured.

 

 

A shaky nod was the only answer Tony needed: he was all too eager to enfold the kid in his arms.

 

 

This time, Peter readily returned the embrace, burying his face in Tony's shoulder and leaning into him like a lifeline. Tony tried not to smile too much; he'd missed this.

 

 

"I'm so sorry, Pete."

 

 

Peter's next words were muffled. "I just- feel like nothing. I don't feel anything anymore. It's like a-a void."

 

 

A void.

 

 

Fuck him to hell and back.

 

 

The kid... had his own void already? Things had already got so unbearable that he disassociated?

 

 

Tony was the fucking worst.

 

 

But he could do something about this, he could do something. He’d yet to figure out how to escape from his own void, but he’d get Peter out of his at any cost.

 

 

He’d done enough damage to the poor kid. Now he had to help for once in his life.

 

 

“Thank you so much for telling me, bud. I can help you, I promise. I’ve been there. I’ve been in that void, and I know you can get out of it.”

 

 

A flushed and tearful face rose to meet his, streaked with fading tension and- was that hope?

 

 

“Really?”

 

 

There were small hands playing with the hem of Tony’s shirt, and he ignored how it made his heart rush. Instead, he pressed his forehead to Peter’s, bringing back memories of that night under the rubble, and stared into the bottomless depths of the kid’s eyes as he murmured to him.

 

 

“Yes. I promise you.”

 

 

A little spark Tony had seen die out when Peter had first told him about the bullying was suddenly present again; like a small chink opening in a barricade, soon he was crumpled in Tony’s arms, only shattered bricks remaining, and sobbing not in anguish but relief.

 

 

It was Tony’s pleasure to be the island that kept the kid from drowning.

 

 

He waited until Peter was ready again. When fisted hands loosened their grip on his t-shirt hem, when the damp patch on his chest stopped increasing in size, when sobs slowed to gulps slowed to sniffs, when a trembling head had finally stilled under his fingers.

 

 

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter muttered.

 

 

“Any time, Peter.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Without knowing it, the kid had coerced Tony into speeding.

 

 

It was just his excitement to reach the tower and see his surprises: he’d been jiggling in his seat since the last crossroads, chattering on to Tony about anything that crossed his mind.

 

 

And something in Tony just wanted to please that kid, no matter how much he demanded.

 

 

So yes, he may have ended up coming to a fairly abrupt stop outside the shiny new Avengers facility.

 

 

And yes, there was a huge dopey grin on his face as he let himself be pulled through the revolving doors and towards the surprises he only hoped would live up to all this excitement.

 

 

“Where is it?” an impatient Peter demanded of him, tugging gently on his shirtsleeve.

 

 

“Floor 6, right across the corridor.” Thank God Tony had been as excited as Peter for this all to be finished, so he’d laid it out with a note for the kid to find.

 

 

As they stood in the elevator, Peter suddenly stilled. When he turned back towards Tony, his face was unreadable. “You know I really don’t care what it actually is, right?”

 

 

Tony was incredulous. “What do you mean?”

 

 

“I don’t care what the surprise is. If it’s a million bucks, I’ll be happy. If it’s one tub of ice cream, I’ll be happy too. It’s just- I’m happy because you took time to make me a surprise. In the first place. So I don’t care if it is actually kinda lame.” He sniggered a little at this. “I’m just happy that you care enough to make me a surprise, if you get what I mean?”

 

 

Tony definitely didn’t pull the kid in for another hug then. He didn’t ruffle his hair, or plant a kiss on his forehead, or whisper, “I’d do anything for you, kid,” and didn’t even care that it was a promise he couldn’t keep, or that he’s just b _ared his goddamn soul_ to Peter Parker.

 

 

The soft  _ping_ of the elevator door pulled them out of their embrace, and Peter took off down the corridor fast, too fast for Tony to match, and in front of him the door had already closed behind the kid as Tony entered to find him standing stock-still.

 

 

It couldn’t have gone better.

 

 

Thankfully, Bucky hadn’t wandered off while he’d fetched the kid, and was still sat a little uncomfortably on the central sofa, the gleam on his metal arm matching that of the bionic laid out beside him.

 

 

Tony had to admit it all seemed a little strange- staged, even.

 

 

But for Peter, who hadn’t moved for a while and whose arms were still out by his sides where he’d forgotten to drop them, none of that mattered.

 

 

Tony was a little worried the kid would do something again, collapse or stop breathing or-

 

 

But when he approached the motionless Peter, he could dimly hear him muttering, “Oh my god, holy shit, oh my god-“

 

 

Tony and Bucky exchanged an amused glance; Tony mouthed, “He’s a big fan.”

 

 

Watching Peter’s reaction was not dissimilar to watching a website opening on a crappy signal. Slowly, he creaked back into life, and the mutters became acclamations as he slowly advanced towards Bucky, jaw hanging open.

 

 

Tony would never get enough of the kid’s stammering.

 

 

Gingerly, Barnes accepted a hug from Peter, who was still talking a mile a minute: “Mr. Bucky- Mr. Barnes- James- uh- sir? I- wow, okay- I guess Tony brought you here? Uh, I love your arm- I larb- no, shit- just to say, I don’t blame you- no, Peter, that’s- dumb- sorry… uh- I- you’re seriously here right now?”

 

 

Somehow, they ended up taking each other’s’ hands, both as awkward-looking as each other, and Peter dropped his first, blanching.

 

 

The soldier spoke up, smiling a little. “Hey, Peter. Tony told me all about you. I know this is kinda weird, but we both thought maybe I could help you to use this?”

 

 

He hefted the new arm over the back of the sofa and presented it to Peter, whose mouth hadn’t come close to closing since he walked in the room.

 

 

“I… uh-“

 

 

Tony'd ditched the red and blue idea in favour of a neutral grey/cream tone with a dull gleam. Overlapping, close-lying slats of alloy matched the dimensions of Peter's flesh arm and aided it's flexibility. He'd chosen an alloy which vaguely mimicked the feel of human flesh so it would seem as natural to Peter as possible.

 

 

“You can take it, Pete,” prompted Tony.

 

 

The way Peter took the arm into his own made something prick at the corner of Tony’s eyes. The reverence with which he held the bionic, the way he cradled it like something precious.

 

 

Abruptly, he turned to Tony. “Tony…” he whispered.

 

 

“Is it alright?”

 

 

“Yes- it’s more than alright, it’s amazing, oh my god this is the best day of life I didn’t think you meant this when you said a surprise oh wow Tony!”

 

 

And the kid launched himself into Tony’s arms yet again. Tony wasn’t complaining.

 

 

When he’d finally calmed down a little, Tony sat him down with Bucky and the three of them dived into a discussion of how exactly the arm worked and how to get it on and off.

 

 

Peter was enthralled throughout it all: he reminded Tony of himself, how he  _needed_ to know everything about how things worked.

 

 

Once the stars had faded from his eyes at the sight of Bucky, Peter lost his shyness and the two of them worked together to get Peter’s arm on, Peter even pulling back his shirtsleeve and revealing the fading scars there so Bucky could attach it at the shoulder.

 

 

And then it was on, and Peter was flexing two sets of fingers before his eyes with bewilderment written all over his face.

 

 

“You know you can change the design if you want? I couldn’t really ask you seeing as it was a surprise, so if you want to change it you-“

 

 

“It’s perfect.” Wonderingly, Peter ran his flesh hand over the overlapping slats of metal that made up the bionic.

 

 

The first thing he chose to do with his new hand was link his fingers through Tony's, a puzzling look of trepidation on his face.

 

 

"What is it, kid?" Tony cocked his head to the side, trying to work out the look in Peter's eyes.

 

 

"I’m not... hurting you?"

 

 

"No, of course not."

 

 

The kid ducked his head at this as if certain Tony was lying.

 

 

"Really, Pete. You're fine."

 

 

"I get you, Peter." The previously quiet Bucky cut in, indicating his own bionic. "Took me a long time to associate this with something other than violence. Lucky for you, you get a fresh start with yours, but I can still teach you how to use it without hurting people."

 

 

"And I can teach you how to use it and really, really hurt people." Tony meant it semi-humorously but the anger simmering behind his eyes at those... fucking creeps... was never far away.

 

 

"Uh..." Peter was turning between the two men uncertainly.

 

 

"Hey, don't worry about it. You and Bucky have your little therapy session and I'll get your final surprise ready."

 

 

"I'd forgotten," breathed Peter, a little sparkle coming back into his eye.

 

 

Tony winked. "Meet me in the gym when you're done."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Tony, I don't think you realise how awesome you are."

 

 

"Keep 'em coming, Parker."

 

 

"No, but seriously. I might- I think I'm gonna puke from excitement."

 

 

"Not all over that new suit, you're not."

 

 

"Maybe three surprises was too much," squeaked Peter, running his hands along the nanotech covering his arms with shaking hands.

 

 

"Alright, I'll have it back then," Tony retorted.

 

 

“No thanks! I'm good- I am so good right now, Tony.”

 

 

Snarky exterior aside, on the inside, Tony was glowing. 

 

 

He'd had to adapt the Iron Spider suit to fit around Peter's new arm, but it looked pretty seamless if he said so himself; the deep red, blue and gold merged with and clung to the metal arm in a way which made it seem like Peter had never lost the flesh arm in the first place.

 

 

It would seem a little suspicious if Spider-Man suddenly lost an arm just after Peter Parker did the same.

 

 

Tony knew how much Peter’s alter ego meant to him. There was no point in trying to prevent the kid from patrolling: he’d go out anyway, Tony knew by this point.

 

 

And he’d do anything to put that infectious grin on Peter’s face.

 

 

Tony folded his arms loosely, Bucky at his side. “Wanna try it out in action? There’s a lot more to it than you’d think.”

 

 

“More to… uh, alright?” A little ruefully, Peter pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck.

 

 

“Hey, it’s fine if you want to wait. A lot’s happened today already.”

 

 

“I mean… I- haven’t done any of this in a while. I might not be so good anymore.”

 

 

“Seriously, kid: no pressure. But we’ve both had our bad days-“ he indicated himself, and Bucky, who looked a little _too_ eager to start sparring- “and if you’re gonna mess up, it’d be best to do it here instead of out on patrol, right?”

 

 

“Sure,” chipped in Bucky. “The only way you learn is by messing up a little sometimes.”

 

 

“And I’ve got a great move to teach you I think you’ll like.”

 

 

The slowly spreading smile on Peter’s face, the jiggling of his feet, was unmistakeable.

 

 

“Sure!”

 

 

 

 

“Just… it’ll seem weird, but just _think_ about the material and the arm disappearing, absorbing itself back into the rest of the suit.”

 

 

“I can try…”

 

 

Close to half an hour on, and Peter was gradually getting back into the swing of things with his new suit and arm, Bucky helping him with some hand-to-hand combat and showing him the right amount of pressure to exert with the metal arm for different purposes and Tony basically stepping back and marvelling at how goddamn _incredible_ this kid was.

 

 

In almost no time at all, he was up on the ceiling, suction tech on the new arm a little slower than the rest of him but still managing to scale the gym walls easily.

 

 

It was clear how much he’d missed all this.

 

 

“Oh! I got it!”

 

 

Tony snapped back to the present; Peter had successfully managed to divert the nanotech in his arm and was again armless.

 

 

“So why did you want me to do this?”

 

 

“The trick to this whole move is that the only way the other guy can take you down is by grabbing that arm. But if it disappears at the right time…”

 

 

“I’m basically unstoppable?”

 

 

“Close enough.”

 

 

“And then if I make the arm appear again right after, they’ll just look like an idiot!”

 

 

Tony chuckled lightly. “Precisely.”

 

 

“Alright, I think I got it. Can we practise the whole thing now?”

 

 

“Sure thing.”

 

 

It was crazy, how quickly the kid picked up everything. No wonder he was so great at school.

 

 

He got it first try, making an obvious effort not to hurt Tony as he sent the billionaire tumbling to the floor on his back with ease.

 

 

Tony heard distant applause from Bucky as Peter immediately stooped to help him up with a touch so gentle Tony let out a weird little sigh.

 

 

“You good?” Peter’s face had way too much concern written all over it.

 

 

“I’m great, Pete.” Tony gripped Peter’s upper arms as he stood and looked the kid in the eye. “That- that was amazing. Do that to any dick who tries to threaten you-“

 

 

“I don’t wanna beat them up back! That’s just carrying on the cycle of violence!”

 

 

“It’s not beating them up if you don’t hurt them. See, you didn’t hurt me one bit. This move is more of a… deterrant. Anyone’s giving you trouble, you get them on their back and you walk away. Run, if you need to. And then you tell me or May about it. Alright?”

 

 

To tell the truth, Tony had no idea if this was the right thing to do: if it would stop all the shit that was going on, or if it would help Peter in any way.

 

 

But the kid’s reply of, “Yeah, I can do that,” seemed pretty conclusive.

 

 

Tony Stark, boss-ass parent.

 

 

After exchanging phone numbers (Tony was surprised Barnes even _had_ a mobile) and Peter somehow getting Bucky to let him play with his hair (at this, he wasn’t surprised: was there anyone Peter couldn’t befriend on sight?), Bucky left the tower, decidedly more happy than when he’d been called over somewhat tersely by Tony.

 

 

Later on, Tony sprawled on the couch with a sleepy Peter curled up against his side, head on Tony’s chest and a new arm slung across him and gleaming softly in the dim light of the TV.

 

 

Neither of them was paying attention to whatever generic Disney film was on, the volume low. Instead, both of them were focused on Tony’s lazy hand which carded through Peter’s hair.

 

 

“I don’t think you realise how angry I am right now, Peter.” It was murmured, but as soon as he addressed it, Tony could feel the rage brewing again, right there for when he needed it.

 

 

He regretted it as soon as he’d said it: the peace was shattered and Peter tensed up against him, his head coming up as he spoke: “Why? Why would you be mad?”

 

 

“It’s not because of you. You could never make me angry. It’s because of those kids who were hurting you.”

 

 

“Can we just- not talk about it anymore? You’ve helped me a lot, you taught me that move - they might stop bothering me now I have the arm.”

 

 

“But ‘might’ isn’t good enough. Not for me. I know you might think you can just let people push you around like that, make you feel like crap, but you’re worth so much more than that.”

 

 

In response, Peter buried his face in Tony’s t-shirt, drinking in his distinctive smell.

 

 

Tony sighed, hating and loving this. “What did they call you?”

 

 

“Why do I have to tell you that?” Peter’s voice was muffled by Tony’s chest; Tony felt the hot breath on his chest.

 

 

“Because it’ll help you get over it. Trust me. Sometimes you have to say things out loud to get them off your chest for good.”

 

 

The kid was surprisingly obliging. His words were still muffled against Tony’s chest.

 

 

“They always, always pick on people who are… different. That’s why they went so hard on me when I lost the arm- because I was even more set apart from everyone else.

 

 

“They called me a- a windowlicker… special… a fr- freak… calling me out ‘cause I was disabled. That’s partly why they kept beating me up so good. They kept calling me swears ‘n stuff… it sounds stupid, but- I hate it when people call me swears. It’s just… not good.”  


 

“That’s totally valid. They shouldn’t be calling you anything.” Tony couldn’t embrace the rage, not yet, so he pushed back the waves of tension, of blank violence, that threatened to overwhelm him.

 

 

“It was- uh- pretty physical too, I guess.”

 

 

“I could see that when you got in the car this afternoon. You sure you’re alright? Nothing’s healed up wrong?”

 

 

“I’m fine.”

 

 

“I’m still gonna schedule a checkup if that’s alright. I know how terrible you are at assessing your injuries,” Tony joked, nudging Peter a little.

 

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

 

“What kinda physical?” Tony’s voice softened again in that way that just _happened_ around the kid.

 

 

Peter blushed, pressed his face further into Tony. “Th-they got me in the- in the- once, and that’s where the rumours about the… about the internship came about. Uh… just general, you know, beating up: nearly broke my nose once, and probably my ribs a little… but it’s all good now!”

 

 

Tony could only sigh, pressing his forehead to the top of Peter’s head.

 

 

In response, Peter curled up a little around him, arm tightening around Tony's shoulder.

 

 

"It's alright now, Pete," Tony whispered to him, so low he barely heard it himself. "It's gonna be alright."

 

 

And, as Peter let himself melt into Tony's open arms, let himself cry a little, let Tony cradle him like a kid far smaller than him, he thought maybe it would be alright. Maybe it would turn out okay.

 

 

Those words were the mantra echoing through his mind as he pushed open the school doors the next day with a new metal arm, ignoring the stares of his classmates.

 

 

They rung in his ears as he sought out Ned, pulling him in for a long hug and grinning as Ned freaked out over the design of the bionic, holding Peter's hand gently as he took it in.

 

 

And this time, when Flash and three of his friends had him backed up against a wall of lockers, the words compelled his feet into a defensive stance, brought his arms towards Flash, kept him level and focused as he brought his bully to the ground and dashed away down the corridor.

 

 

It couldn't have gone better. The arm was gone and back so quickly it looked almost like Flash had fallen on his ass from one push.

 

 

The inevitable rush of adrenaline flooded through Peter as he locked himself in the nearest stall and sank to the floor, pulling out his phone to send a message to Tony and Bucky.

 

 

**I did it! I did the move on Flash and he didn't see it coming! Thanks so much for the arm and the training :)**

 

 

Almost immediately came a response from Tony.

 

 

**Nice one, kiddo! So proud of you ;) go get 'em!**

 

 

A warmth Peter hadn't felt in too long spread from somewhere near his heart outwards, filling him with a sense of "it already is alright."

 

 

This was alright, he thought as he gripped the phone and huffed out a small laugh. It was more than alright...

 

 

He was- happy.

 

 

Peter made it through a whole school day without anyone bothering him. As the bell tolled the end of last period, he burst out of the school gates, headed down the nearest empty alleyway and, with a combination of taps on the inside of his bionic arm, the Iron Spider suit coalesced swiftly around him.

 

 

He still hadn't gotten over how cool it was.

 

 

There was no mistaking the rush of adrenaline pumping through him as he shot a web and pulled himself up and over the street. He'd missed this so much.

 

 

Thankfully, nothing serious went down: Peter would never admit it, but he'd gotten a bit rusty after weeks without going out as Spider-Man. Every criminal he encountered seemed surprised that the webslinger was back in town, and even more so at the suit upgrade. It gave Peter the edge he needed to complete his patrol without a slip-up.

 

 

The whistling sound of wind through his ears as he swung through the city. The airy, thrilling feeling of jumping, running, crawling, making his way through streets wide and narrow, seeking out danger. The mingling smells of food vendors, of the passers-by on the road, of countless cars in traffic jams, of the dance studio on 5th and 28th and yesterday’s drizzle. All things he’d almost forgotten.

 

 

Tony had almost forgotten how it felt not to be angry. He need only picture Peter’s bruised and crumpled face and, like a pot bubbling over with boiling water, the anger brewed behind his eyes.

 

 

He liked to think that, as he called in at Midtown High that afternoon and asked to have a talk with Flash Thompson, it wasn’t the rage acting. Somehow, the stunned receptionist agreed to take Flash out of his final lesson for a “private consultation”, most likely assuming Tony was going to offer him an internship or whatever.

 

 

He hadn’t prepared what he was going to say. Maybe that was why he was almost certain the whole thing was done out of long-ignored, pent-up anger.

 

 

Flash already looked apprehensive, hands twisting in his lap and head ducked. Perfect.

 

 

“Mr. Thompson.”

 

 

Flash glanced up at him for a little, then blanched. Maybe he looked frightening or something. It wasn’t unlikely that his jaw had clenched up with the tension coursing through him.

 

 

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, right? No, it’s not to offer you an internship. I don’t just hand them out, especially not to bastards like you. I’ll tell you something, I only have one intern. Peter. That’s how good he is. And I guess it’s hard for you or something because my kid is better than you, but that will never, never merit you hurting him.”

 

 

Flash pinched his eyebrows together; stuttered a little. “Mr. - Mr. Stark, it isn’t like that. We just piss- uh- play around a bit, you know-“

 

 

“Oh really? Because that’s not what I heard from the other end of all this. You haven’t pissed around, no. What you’ve done is taken a brilliant, smart, kind, strong kid, who you will never live to be nearly as good as, and you’ve tried to break him so you can better yourself. Bad news for you, he won’t be broken just like that. From what I’ve heard, he’s come back fighting.”

 

 

Some spark of recognition and then confusion in Flash’s eyes only fed the fire blazing inside Tony. His voice remained low, but murderous.

 

 

“But just because he is so strong, does not make what you did any less _disgusting._ You know I have the power to make your life hell, right? But I’m not gonna. I’m not gonna.”

 

 

Tony caught the front of Flash’s shirt and pulled the kid up to face him, hissing in his ear:

 

 

“I hope you remember this moment. This is your last chance to leave my goddamn kid alone. You don’t deserve to look him in the fucking eye. And if you don’t stop this bullshit- I will not stop until I know you will regret what you’ve done.

 

 

“You made Peter feel like shit. Now say you’re sorry.”

 

 

Flash pulled away from his grip, shaken. “I- don’t know- I’m sorry, sir.”

 

 

Instantly, Tony closed the gap between them, using his height as an advantage. “Say it and mean it.”

 

 

Taking a shuddering breath, Flash spoke, voice breaking a little: “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”

 

 

"I hope you meant that."

 

 

Tony stalked out of the room, out of the school, and went and drove around for a long time, waiting for Peter to text him.

 

 

**How's patrol going, Pete?**

 

 

It took a couple minutes for a reply to come through - understandable if the kid was in the middle of something - but a sense of unease settled over Tony all the same.

 

 

**Amazing. It's amazing, thank you so so much Tony! This is the best :D**

 

 

**Got time to call your old mentor?**

 

 

**Yeah sure**

 

 

And then his phone was ringing, and the excitement he felt at getting a call from Peter was _absurd._

 

 

Accepting the call, Tony watched as the face of Spider-Man came up on his phone screen.

 

_"Tony!"_

 

 

"Hiya, kid." Tony couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his face, and by the tone of Peter's voice he could clearly picture the joy under the mask.

 

 

_"Nothing big on patrol today, couple of robberies and stuff but they were all so surprised to see me in the first place I took them down no problem."_

 

 

"That's great. Feeling alright?"

 

_"Yeah, really good, actually. Where are you right now?"_

 

 

"What, you wanna stalk me now?"

 

 

Peter chuckled breathlessly. _"No, I was just wondering."_

 

 

"On the edge of town. I went for a spin to clear my head."

 

 

 _"You're- are_ you _feeling alright, Tony?"_

 

 

Tony wanted to laugh, wanted to scream at the irony of this kid, who'd been trapped under rubble all night and lost his arm, only to get bullied about it right after, asking himif he was alright.

 

 

"Jesus, Peter... Yeah. I'm a lot better now that you're better, actually."

 

 

 _"Well... I'm glad I can make you happy, then."_ Glancing around, Peter retracted his mask, revealing a slightly puzzled smile.

 

 

"I love you, Pete. You know that, right?"

 

 

A pause. Peter stuttered a little, face reddening but a little smile growing across it.

 

_"I- yeah, I guess. And I love you too, Tony."_

 

 

Scrunching up his face in a smile, Tony blew Peter a sarcastic kiss and ended the call.

 

 

Tony could only hope he'd given the kid - something - that made him understand just how loved he was.

 

 

He wasn’t able to see the cogs turning in Peter's brain, see the new attachment to Tony cemented, and a new thought take the place of all the self-hate he'd wallowed in for too long:

 

 

Peter Parker, you are pretty damn amazing. You are loved. You are brilliant. You are safe. 

 

 

And everything's gonna be alright in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all: sorry this took a while longer than the other chapters to be released, I've been very busy recently so I've had to squeeze in most of my writing on the train or waiting in queues. Hopefully, this hasn't affected the quality too much!
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who supported me through this journey: to everyone who commented, liked or read this fic, to those who recommended it to others or chatted with me outside of the archive, and most importantly to my darling Elf, my whole universe, who loved and supported me through the whole process! I larb you with all my heart!
> 
> I hope y'all have enjoyed this rambling mess of a fic! love you all, have a great day! xx


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